MAE   MADDEN, 


BY    MARY    MURDOCH    MASON, 


INTRODUCTORY  POEM, 


BY 


JOAQUIN     MILLER. 


The  wheel  of  fortune  guide  you, 
The  boy  with  the  bow  beside  you 
Run  aye  in  the  way,  till  the  dawn  of  day 
And  a^luckier  lot  betide  you. 

Ben  Jonson. 


CHICAGO: 

JA-NSEN,    McCLURG    &    CO. 
1876. 


COPYRIGHT, 

JANSEN,  McCLURG  &  CO.. 
A.  D.  1875. 


FISH  &  KTSSELL,  PRINTERS. 


A  DKEAM   OF   ITALY. 


AN  ALLEGOKY  INTRODUCING  "  MAE  MADDEN.11 
I. 

We  two  had  been  parted,  God  pity  us,  when 

The  stars  were  unnamed  and  when  heaven  was  dim ; 

We  two  had  been  parted  far  back  on  the  rim 

And  the  outermost  border  of  heaven's  red  bars ; 

We  two  had  been  parted  ere  the  meeting  of  men 

Or  God  had  set  compass  on  spaces  as  yet. 

We  two  had  been  parted  ere  God  had  set 

His  ringer  to  spinning  the  spaces  with  stars, — 

And  now,  at  the  last  in  the  gold  and  set 

Of  the  sun  of  Venice,  we  two  had  met. 

II. 

Where  the  lion  of  Venice,  with  brows  afrown, 

With  tossed  mane  tumbled,  and  teeth  in  air, 

Looks  out  in  his  watch  o'er  the  watery  town, 

With  a  paw  half  lifted,  with  his  claws  half  bare, 

By  the  blue  Adriatic,  in  the  edge  of  the  sea, 

I  saw  her.     I  knew  her,  but  she  knew  not  me. 

I  had  found  her  at  last !    Why,  I  had  sailed 

The  antipodes  through,  had  sought,  had  hailed 

All  flags,  had  climbed  where  the  storm  clouds  curled, 

And  called  from  the  awful  arched  dome  of  the  world. 


4  A  DREAM  OF  ITALY. 

III. 

I  saw  her  one  moment,  then  fell  back  abashed 

And  filled  full  to  the  throat.    .    .    .    Then  I  turned  me 

once  more 

So  glad  to  the  sea,  while  the  level  sun  flashed 
On  the  far,  snowy  Alps.     .      .     .    Her  breast !    Why, 

her  breast 

Was  white  as  twin  pillows  that  allure  you  to  rest; 
Her  sloping  limbs  moved  like  to  melodies,  told 
As  she  rose  from  the  sea,  and  she  threw  back  the  gold 
Of  her  glory  of  hair,  and  set  face  to  the  shore.     .     .    . 
I  knew  her !     I  knew  her,  though  we  had  not  met 
Since  the  far  stars  sang  to  the  sun's  first  set 

IV. 

How  long  I  had  sought  her !     I  had  hungered,  nor  ate 

Of  any  sweet  fruits.     I  had  tasted  not  "one 

Of  all  the  fair  glories  grown  under  the  sun. 

I  had  sought  only  her.    Yea,  I  knew  that  she 

Had  come  upon  earth  and  stood  waiting  for  me 

Somewhere  by  my  way.     But  the  pathways  of  fate 

They  had  led  otherwhere.    The  round  world  round, 

The  far  North  seas  and  the  near  profound 

Had  failed  rne  for  aye.     Now  I  stood  by  that  sea 

While  a  ship  drove  by,  and  all  dreamily. 

V. 

I  had  turned  from  the  lion  a  time,  and  when 

I  looked  tow'rd  the  tide  and  out  on  the  lea 

Of  the  town  where  the  warm  sea  tumbled  and  teemed 

With  beauty,  I  saw  her.     I  knew  her  then, 

The  tallest,  the  fairest  fair  daughter  of  men. 


A  DREAM  OF  ITALY.  5 

O,  Venice  stood  full  in  her  glory.    She  gleamed 
In  the  splendor  of  sunset  and  sensuous  sea ; 
Yet  I  saw  but  my  bride,  my  affinity, 
While  the  doves  hurried  home  to  the  dome  of  Saint  Mark 
And  the  brass  horses  plunged  their  high  manes  in  the 
dark. 

VI. 

Was  it  well  with  my  love  ?    Was  she  true  ?    Was  she 

brave 

With  virtue's  own  valor  ?    Was  she  waiting  for  me  ? 
O,  how  fared  my  love !   Had  she  home  ?  Had  she  bread  ? 
Had  she  known  but  the  touch  of  the  warm-tempered 

wave? 

Was  she  born  upon  earth  with  a  crown  on  her  head ; 
Or  born  like  myself,  but  a  dreamer,  instead? 
So  long  it  had  been !     So  long !     Why  the  sea, 
That  wrinkled  and  surly  old  time-tempered  slave, 
Had  been  born,  had  his  revels,  grown  wrinkled  and  hoar 
Since  I  last  saw  my  love  on  that  uttermost  shore. 

VII. 

O,  how  fared  my  love?    Once  I  lifted  my  face 
And  I  shook  back  my  hair  and  looked  out  on  the  sea ; 
I  pressed  my  hot  palms  as  I  stood  in  my  place 
And  cried,  "  O,  I  come  like  a  king  to  your  side 
Though  all  hell  intervene."    .    .    .    "  Hist!  she  may  be 

a  bride ! 

A  mother  at  peace,  with  sweet  babes  on  her  knee ! 
A  babe  at  her  breast  and  a  spouse  at  her  side !     .     .     . 
Have  I  wandered  too  long,  and  has  destiny 
Set  mortal  between  us?"     I  buried  my  face 
In  my  hands,  and  I  moaned  as  I  stood  in  my  place. 


6  A  DREAM  OF  ITALY. 

VIII. 

'Twas  her  year  to  be  young.     She  was  tall,  she  was  fair 
Was  she  pure  as  the  snow  on  the  Alps  over  there  ? 
'Twas  her  year  to  be  young.     She  was  fair,  she  was  tall 
And  I  knew  she  was  true  as  I  lifted  my  face 
And  saw  her  press  down  her  rich  robe  to  its  place 
With  a  hand  white  and  small  as  a  babe's  with  a  doll. 
And  her  feet— why,  her  feet,  in  the  white  shining  sand, 
Were  so  small  they  might  nest  in  my  one  brawny  hand. 
Then  she  pushed  back  her  hair  with  a  round   hand 

that  shone 
And  flashed  in  the  light  with  a  white  starry  stone. 

IX. 

Then,  my  love  she  was  rich.    My  love  she  was  fair. 
Was  she  pure  as  the  snow  on  the  Alps  over  there  ? 
She  was  gorgeous  with  wealth.    "  Thank  God,  she  has 

bread," 

I  said  to  myself.    Then  I  humbled  my  head 
In  gratitude.    Then  I  questioned  me  where 
Was  her  palace  ?  her  parents  ?  What  name  did  she  bear  ? 
What  mortal  on  earth  came  nearest  her  heart  ? 
Who  touched  the  small  hand  till  it  thrilled  to  a  smart  ? 
'Twas  her  day  to  be  young.   She  was  proud,  she  was  fair. 
Was  she  pure  as  the  snow  on  the  Alps  over  there  ? 

X. 

Now  she  turned,  reached  a  hand ;  then  a  tall  gondolier 
That  had  leaned  on  his  oar,  like  a  long  lifted  spear, 
Shot  sudden  and  swift  and  all  silently 
And  drew  to  her  side  as  she  turned  from  the  tide.    .    . 
It  was  odd,  such  a  thing,  and  I  counted  it  queer 


A  DREAM  OF  ITALY.  7 

That  a  princess  like  this,  whether  virgin  or  bride, 
Should  abide  thus  apart,  and  should  bathe  in  that  sea ; 
And  I  shook  back  my  hair,  and  so  unsatisfied. 
Then  I  fluttered  the  doves  that  were  perched  close  about, 
As  I  strode  up  and  down  in  dismay  and  in  doubt. 

XI. 

Then  she  stood  in  the  boat  on  the  borders  of  night 

As  a  goddess  might  stand  oh  that  far  wonder  land 

Of  eternal  sweet  life,  which  men  have  named  Death. 

I  turned  to  the  sea  and  I  caught  at  my  breath, 

As  she  drew  from  the  boat  through  her  white  baby  hand 

Her  vestment  of  purple  imperial,  and  white. 

Then  the  gondola  shot !  swift,  sharp  from  the  shore. 

There  was  never  the  sound  of  a  song  or  of  oar 

But  the  doves  hurried  home  in  white  clouds  to  Saint 

Mark, 
And  the  lion  loomed  high  o'er  the  sea  in  the  dark. 

XII. 

Then  I  cried,   "Quick!    Follow  her.      Follow    her. 

Fast! 

Come !    Thrice  double  fare  if  you  follow  her  true 
To  her  own  palace  door."     There  was  plashing  of  oar 
And  rattle  of  rowlock.     .     .     .     I  sat  leaning  low 
Looking  far  in  the  dark,  looking  out  as  we  sped 
With  my  soul  all  alert,  bending  down,  leaning  low. 
But  only  the  oaths  of  the  men  as  we  passed 
When  we  jostled  them  sharp  as  we  sudden  shot  thro' 
The  watery  town.    Then  a  deep,  distant  roar — 
The  rattle  of  rowlock,  the  rush  of  the  oar. 


8  A  DREAM  OF  ITALY. 

XIII. 

Then  an  oath.    Then  a  prayer !    Then  a  gust  that  made 

rents 

Through  the  yellow  sailed  fishers.    Then  suddenly 
Came  sharp  forked  fire !     Then  far  thunder  fell 
Like  the  great  first  gun !     Ah,  then  there  was  route 
Of  ships  like  the  breaking  of  regiments 
And  shouts  as  if  hurled  from  an  upper  hell. 
Then  tempest!     It  lifted,  it  spun  us  about, 
Then  shot  us  ahead  through  the  hills  of  the  sea 
As  if  a  great  arrow  shot  shoreward  in  wars — 
Then  heaven  split  open  till  we  saw  the  blown  stars. 

XIV. 

On!     On!    Through    the    foam,   through   the   storm, 

through  the  town. 

She  was  gone.     She  was  lost  in  the  wilderness 
Of  palaces  lifting  their  marbles  of  snow. 
I  stood  in  my  gondola.    Up  and  all  down 
I  pushed  through  the  surge  of  the  salt-flood  street 
Above  me,  below.    .     .    Twas  only  the  beat 
Of  the  sea's  sad  heart.    .     .    Then  I  heard  below 
The  water-rat  building,  but  nothing  but  that; 
Not  even  the  sea  bird  screaming  distress, 
As  she  lost  her  way  in  that  wilderness. 

XV. 

I  listened  all  night.     I  caught  at  each  sound ; 

I  clutched  and  I  caught  as  a  man  that  drown'd.    .    .     . 

Only  the  sullen  low  growl  of  the  sea 

Far  out  the  flood  street  at  the  edge  of  the  ships. 

Only  the  billow  slow  licking  his  lips, 


A  DREAM  OF  ITALY.  9 

Like  a  dog  that  lay  crouching  there  watching  for  me ; 
Growling  and  showing  white  teeth  all  the  night, 
Reaching  his  neck  and  as  ready  to  bite — 
Only  the  waves  with  their  salt  flood  tears 
Fawning  white  stones  of  a  thousand  years. 

XYI. 

Only  the  birds  in  the  wilderness 

Of  column  and  dome  and  of  glittering  spire 

Tnat  thrust  to  heaven  and  held  the  fire 

Of  the  thunder  still :     The  bird's  distress 

As  he  struck  his  wings  in  that  wilderness, 

On  marbles  that  speak  and  thrill  and  inspire. 

The  night  below  and  the  night  above ; 

The  water-rat  building,  the  startled  white  dove, 

The  wide-winged,  dolorous  sea  bird's  call 

The  water-rat  building,  but  that  was  all. 

XVII. 

Lo !  pushing  the  darkness  from  pillar  to  post, 
The  morning  came  silent  and  gray  like  a  ghost 
Slow  up  the  canal.    I  leaned  from  the  prow 
And  listened.     Not  even  the  bird  in  distress 
Screaming  above  through  the  wilderness; 
Not  even  the  stealthy  old  water-rat  now. 
Only  the  bell  in  the  fisherman's  tower 
Slow  tolling  a-sea  and  telling  the  hour 
To  kneel  to  their  sweet  Santa  Barbara 
For  tawny  fishers  a-sea  and  pray. 


10  A  DREAM  OF  ITALY. 

XVIII. 

My  dream  it  is  ended,  the  curtain  withdrawn. 
The  night  that  lay  hard  on  the  breast  of  earth, 
Deep  and  heavy  as  a  horrid  nightmare, 

Moves  by,  and  I  look  to  the  rosy  dawn 

I  shall  leave  you.  here,  with  a  leader  fair ; 

One  gentle,  with  faith  and  fear  of  her  worth. 

She  shall  lead  you  on  through  tnat  Italy 

That  the  gods  have  loved ;  and  may  it  be 

A  light-hearted  hour  that,  hand  in  hand, 

You  wander  the  warm  and  the  careless  love-land. 

XIX. 

By  the  windy  waters  of  the  Michigan 

She  invokes  the  gods.     .     .    .    Be  it  bright  or  dim, 

Who  does  his  endeavor  as  best  he  can 

Does  bravely,  indeed.    The  rest  is  with  Him. 

Let  a  new  star  dance  in  the  Occident 

Till  it  shakes  through  the  gossamer  floors  of  God 

And  shines  o'er  Chicago.     .     .    The  Orient 

Is  hoar  with  glories.     Let  Illini  sod 

Bear  glory  as  well  as  the  gleaming  grain, 

And  engines  smoking  along  her  plain. 

JOAQUIN  MILLER. 
CHICAGO,  Nov.,  1875.  . 


MAE    MADDEN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

SCENE.    Deck  of  an  ocean  steamer. 

Characters.  Mrs.  Jerrold,  matron  and  chaperon  in 
general. 

Edith  Jerrold,  her  daughter. 

Albert  Madden,  a  young  man  on  study  intent. 

Eric,  his  brother,  on  pleasure  bent. 

Norman  Mann,  cousin  of  the  Jerrolds,  old  class- 
mate of  the  Maddens. 

Mae  Madden,  sister  of  the  brothers  and  leading  lady. 

T'S  something  like  dying,  I  do  declare," 
said  Mae,  and  as  she  spoke  a  suspi- 
cious-looking drop  slid  softly  across 
her  cheek,  down  over  the  deck-railing, 
to  join  its  original  briny  fellows  in  the  deep 
below. 

"  What  is  like  dying?  "  asked  Eric. 
"  Why,   leaving  the  only    world  you  know. 
There,  you  see,  papa  and  mamma  are  fast  fad- 
ing away,  and    here    we  are  traveling   off  at 
the  rate  of  ever  so  many  miles  an  hour." 
u  Knots,  Mae;  do  be  nautical  at  sea." 
UNP/EflSiTY  Of  CALIFORNIA  UBRARI 


12  MAE  MADDEN. 

uAway  from  everything  and  everybody  we 
know.  I  do  really  think  it  is  like  dying, — don't 
you,  Mr.  Mann?"  Mae  turned  abruptly  and 
faced  the  young  man  by  her  side. 

u  People  aren't  apt  to  die  in  batches  or  by  the 
half-dozen,"  he  replied,  coolly.  "  If  you  were  all 
by  yourself,  it  would  be  more  like  it,  I  suppose, 
but  you  are  taking  quite  a  slice  of  your  own 
world  along  with  you,  and  really — " 

uAnd  really  pity  is  the  very  last  article  I 
have  any  use  for.  You  are  right.  I  was  only 
sorry  for  the  moment.  '  Eastward  Ho '  is  a 
very  happy  cry.  How  differently  we  shall  all 
take  Europe,"  she  continued,  in  a  moment. 
u  There  is  Albert,  I  honestly  believe  he  will 
live  in  his  Baedeker  just  because  he  can  see 
no  further  than  the  covers  of  a  book.  You 
need  not  laugh,  for  it  is  a  fact  that  people 
confined  for  years  to  a  room  can't  see  beyond 
its  limits  when  they  are  taken  out  into  broader 
space,  and  I  don't  see  why  it  shouldn't  be  the 
same  with  a  man  who  lives  in  his  books  as  Al- 
bert does." 

"  He  sees  the  world  in  his  books,"  said  Mr. 
Mann,  with  a  little  spirit. 

"  He  gets  a  microscopic  view  of  it,  yes,"  re- 
plied Mae,  grandiloquently,  "  and  Edith — " 


MAE  MADDEN.  13 

u  Always  sees  just  what  he  does,"  suggested 
Eric  maliciously. 

"  Now,  boys,"  said  Miss  Mae,  assuming  sud- 
denly a  mighty  patronage,  u  I  will  not  have 
you  hit  at  Albert  and  Edith  in  this  way.  It 
will  be  very  annoying  to  them.  They  have  a 
right  to  act  just  as  absurdly  as  they  choose. 
We  none  of  us  know  how  people  who  are  fall- 
ing in  love  would  act." 

No,  the  boys  agreed  this  was  quite  true. 

u  And  I  really  do  suppose  they  are  falling  in 
love,  don't  you?  "  queried  Mae. 

Yes,  they  did  both  believe  it. 

Just  here,  up  came  the  two  subjects  of  con- 
versation, looking,  it  must  be  confessed,  as 
much  like  one  subject  as  any  man  and  wife. 

u  What  are  you  talking  of  ?"  asked  Edith, 
u  Madame  Tussaud  or  a  French  salad  ?  No 
matter  how  trivial  the  topic,  I  am  sure  it  has  a 
foreign  flavor." 

u  There  you  are  mistaken,"  replied  the  frank 
Eric,  "  we  were  discussing  you  two  people,  in 
the  most  homelike  kind  of  a  way." 

At  this  Edith  blushed,  Albert  frowned,  Mae 
scowled  at  Eric,  who  opened  his  eyes  amazedly, 
Norman  Mann  looked  over  the  deck  railing  and 
laughed,  the  wind  blew,  the  sailors  heave-ho-ed 


14  MAE  MADDEN. 

near  by,  and  there  was  a  grand  tableau  vivant 
for  a  few  seconds. 

u  0,  come,"  cried  Mae,  u  suppose  we  stop  look- 
ing like  a  set  of  illustrations  for  a  phrenological 
journal,  expressive  of  the  various  emotions.  I 
was  only  speculating  on  the  different  sights  we 
should  see  in  the  same  places.  Confess,  now,  Al- 
bert. Won't  your  eyes  be  forever  hunting  out 
old  musty,  dusty  volumes?  Will  not  books  be 
your  first  pleasures  in  the  sight-seeing  line  ?  " 

"  0,  no,  pictures,"  cried  Edith. 

u  That  is  as  you  say,"  Mae  demurely  agreed. 
"  Pictures  and  books  for  you  two  at  any  rate." 

u  And  churches." 

"  For  your  mother,  yes,  and  beer-gardens  for 
Eric,  and  amphitheatres  and  battle  fields  for  Mr. 
Mann." 

u  And  for  yourself  ?  " 

"  The  blue,  blue  bay  of  Naples,  a  grove  of 
oranges,  moonlight  and  a  boat  if  it  please  you." 

"  By  the  way,"  suggested  Albert,  "  about  our 
plans;  we  really  should  begin  to  agitate  the 
matter  at  once." 

u  Yes,  to  do  our  fighting  on  shipboard.  Let  us 
agree  to  hoist  the  white  flag  the  day  we  sight 
land,  else  we  shall  settle  down  into  a  regular  War 
of  the  Roses  and  never  decide,"  laughed  Norman. 


MAE  MADDEN.  15 

"  As  there  are  six  minds,"  continued  Albert, 
"  there  will  have  to  be  some  giving  up." 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  me?"  enquired  Mae. 
"  I  am  the  very  most  unselfish  person  in  the 
world.  I'll  settle  down  anywhere  for  the  win- 
ter, provided  only  that  it  is  not  in  Rome." 

"  But  that  is  the  very  place,"  cried  Edith,  and 
Albert,  and  Mrs.  Jerrold  from  her  camp-chair. 

"  0,  how  dreadful!  The  only  way  to  prevent 
it  will  be  for  us  to  stand  firm,  boys,  and  make 
it  a  tie." 

u  But  Norman  is  especially  eager  to  go  to 
Rome,"  said  Edith,  "and  that  makes  us  four 
strong  at  once  in  favor  of  that  city." 

"  But  is  not  Rome  a  fearful  mixture  of  dead 
Caesar's  bones  and  dirty  beggars?  And  mustn't 
one  carry  hundreds  of  dates  at  one's  finger-tips 
to  appreciate  this,  and  that,  and  the  other?  Is 
it  not  all  tremendously  and  overwhelmingly 
historical,  and  don't  you  have  to  keep  exerting 
your  mind  and  thinking  and  remembering?  I 
would  rather  go  down  to  Southern  Italy  and 
look  at  lazzaroni  lie  on  stone  walls,  in  red 
cloaks,  as  they  do  in  pictures,""  and  not  be 
obliged  to  topple  off  the  common  Italian  to 
pile  the  gray  stone  with  old  memories  of  some 
great  dead  man.  Everything  is  ghostly  in 


16  MAE  MADDEN. 

Rome.  Now,  there  must  be  some  excitement 
in  Southern  Italy.  There's  Vesuvius,  and  she 
isn't  dead — like  Nero — but  a  living  demon, 
that  may  erupt  any  night,  and  give  you  a  little 
red  grave  by  the  sea  for  your  share." 

u  She's  not  nearly  through  yet,"  laughed 
Edith,  as  Mae  paused  for  breath. 

u  I'm  only  afraid,"  said  Mae,  u  that  after  I 
had  been  down  there  a  week,  I  should  forget 
English,  buy  a  contadina  costume,  marry  a 
child  of  the  sun,  and  run  away  from  this  big 
world  with  its  puzzles  and  lessons,  and  rights 
and  wrongs.  Imagine  me  in  my  doorway  as 
you  passed  in  your  travelling  carriage,  hot  and 
tired  on  your  way — say  to  Sorrento.  I  would 
dress  my  beautiful  Italian  all  up  in  scarlet 
flowers  and  wreathe  his  big  hat  and  kiss  his 
brown  eyes  and  take  his  brown  hand,  and  then 
we  would  run  along  by  the  bay  and  laugh  at 
you  stiff,  grand  world's  folks  as  we  skipped  past 
you." 

u  We  shall  know  where  to  look  for  you,  if 
ever  you  do  disappear,"  said  Norman  Mann. 

"  But,  my  dear  Mae,"  added  Albert,  u  though 
this  is  amusing,  it  is  utterly  useless." 

u  Amusing  things  always  are,"  said  Mae. 

"  The  question  is,  shall  we  or  shall  we  not  go 
to  Rome  for  the  winter?" 


MAE  MADDEN.  17 

"  Certainly,  by  all  means,  and  if  I  don't  like 
it,  I'll  run  away  to  Sorrento,''  and  Mae  shook 
her  sunny  head  and  twinkled  her  eyes  in  a 
fascinating  sort  of  way,  that  made  Eric  feel  a 
proud  brotherly  pleasure  in  this  saucy  young 
woman,  and  that  gave  Norman  Mann  a  sort  of 
feeling  he  had  had  a  good  deal  of  late,  a  feeling 
hard  to  define,  though  we  have  all  known  it,  a 
delicious  concoction  of  pleasure  and  pain.  His 
eyes  were  fixed  on  Mae,  now.  "  What  is  it?  " 
she  asked.  u  You  will  like  Rome,  I  am  sure." 
"  No,  I  never  like  what  I  think  I  shall  not." 

u  It  might  save  some  trouble,  then,  if  I  ask 
you  now  if  you  expect  to  like  me,"  said  he,  in  a 
lower  tone.  "  Why  certainly,  I  do  like  you 
very  much,"  she  replied,  honestly.  "  What  a 
stupid  question,"  he  thinks,  vexedly.  "  Why 
did  I  tell  him  I  liked  him  ?  "  she  thinks,  blush- 
ingly.  So  the  waves  of  anxiety  and  doubt  be- 
gin to  swell  in  these  two  hearts  as  the  outside 
waves  beat  with  a  truer  sea-motion  momently 
against  the  steamer's  side. 

Between  days  of  sea-sickness  come  delightful 
intervals  of  calm  sea  and  fresh*  breezes,  when 
the  party  fly  to  the  hurricane  deck  to  get  the 
very  quintessence  of  life  on  the  ocean  wave. 
One  morning  Mrs.  Jerrold  and  Edith  were  sit- 


18  MAE  MADDEN. 

ting  there  alone,  with  rugs  and  all  sorts  of  head 
devices  in  soft  wools  and  flannels,  and  books 
and  a  basket  of  fruit.  The  matron  of  the  party 
was  a  tall,  fine-looking  woman,  a  good  type  of 
genuine  New  England  stock  softened  by  city 
breeding.  New  Engianders  are  so  many  propo- 
sitions from  Euclid,  full  of  ri^ht  angles  and 
straight  lines,  but  easy  living  and  the  dressma- 
ker's art  combine  to  turn  the  corners  gently. 
Edith  was  like  her  mother,  but  softened  by  a 
touch  of  warm  Dutch  blood.  She  was  tall,  almost 
stately,  with  a  good  deal  of  American  style, 
which  at  that  time  happened  to  be  straight  and 
slender.  She  was  naturally  reserved,  but  four 
years  of  boarding-school  life  had  enriched  her 
store  of  adjectives  and  her  amount  of  endearing 
gush-power,  and  she  had  at  least  six  girl  friends 
to  whom  she  sent  weekly  epistles  of  some  half- 
dozen  sheets  in  length,  beginning,  each  one  of 

them,   with   "  My   dearest "   and  ending 

"  Your  devoted  Edith." 

As  Edith  and  her  mother  quietly  read,  and 
ate  grapes,  and  lolled  in  a  delightfully  feminine 
way,  voices  were  heard, — Mae's  and  Norman's. 
They  were  in  the  middle  of  a  conversation. 
"  Yes,"  Mae  was  saying,  "  you  do  away  with 
individuality  altogether  nowadays,  with  your 


.WAE  MADDEN.  19 

dreadful  classifications.  It  is  all  the  same  from 
daffodils  up  to  women." 

"How  do  we  classify  women,  pray?  " 

"  In  the  mind  of  man,"  began  Mae,  as  if  she 
were  reading,  u  there  are  three  classes  of  wom- 
en; the  giddy  butterflies,  the  busy  bees,  and  the 
woman's  righters.  The  first  are  pretty  and  silly; 
the  second,  plain  and  useful;  the  third,  mannish 
and  odious.  The  first  wear  long  trailing  dresses 
and  smile  at  you  while  waltzing,  the  second 
wear  aprons  and  give  you  apple-dumplings, 
and  the  third  want  your  manly  prerogatives, 
your  dress-coat,  your  money,  and  your  vote. 
Flirt  with  the  giddy  butterflies,  your  first  love 
was  one.  First  loves  always  are.  Marry  the 
busy  bee.  Your  mother  was  a  busy  bee. 
Mothers  always  are.  And  keep  on  the  other  side 
of  the  street  from  the  woman's  righter  as  long 
as  you  can.  Alas!  your  daughter  will  be  one." 

u  Well,  isn't  there  any  classifying  on  the 
other  side?  Aren't  there  horsemen  and  sport- 
ing men  and  booky  men,  in  the  feminine 
mind?" 

u  Perhaps  so.  There  certainly  are  the  fops, 
and  nowadays  this  terrible  army  of  reformers 
and  radicals,  of  whom  my  brother  Albert  here 
is  the  best  known  example." 


20  MAE  MADDEN. 

"What  is  it?'1  asked  Albert,  looking  up 
abstractedly  from  his  book,  for  he  and  Eric  had 
sauntered  up  the  stairs  too,  by  this  time. 

"  They  are  the  creatures,"  continued  Mae, 
"  who  scorn  joys  and  idle  pleasures.  They 
deal  with  the  good  of  the  many  and  the  prob- 
lems of  the  universe,  and  step  solemnly  along  to 
that  dirge  known  as  the  March  of  Progress. 
And  what  do  they  get  for  it  all  ?  Something 
like  this.  Put  down  your  book,  I'm  going  to 
prophesy,"  and  Mae  backed  resolutely  up 
against  the  railing  and  held  her  floating  scarfs 
and  veils  in  a  bunch  at  her  throat,  while  she 
prophesied  in  this  way: 

"  Behold  me,  direct  lineal  descendant  of 
Albert  Madden,  speaking  to  my  children  in  the 
year  1995:  ;  What,  children,  want  amusement? 
Want  to  see  the  magic  lantern  to  note  the 
effects  of  light?  Alas!  how  frivolous.  Listen, 
children,  to  the  achievements  of  your  great 
ancestor,  as  reported  by  the  Encyclopedia.  "A. 
Madden — promoter  of  civilization  and  progress, 
chiefly  known  by  his  excellent  theory  entitled 
The  Number  of  Cells  in  a  Human  Brain  com- 
pared to  the  Working  Powers  of  Man,  and  that 
remarkable  essay,  headed  by  this  formula:  Given 
— 10,000,000  laboring  men,  to  find  the  number 


MAE  MADDEN.  21 

of  loaves  of  bread  in  the  world."  Here,  chil- 
dren, take  these  works.  Progressimus,  you  may 
have  the  theory,  while  Civilizationica  reads  the 
essay.  Then  change  about.  Ponder  them  well, 
and  while  we  walk  to  the  Museum  later,  tell 
me  their  errors.  Then  I  will  show  you  the 
preserved  ears  of  the  first  man  found  in  Bosh- 
land  by  P.  T.  Barnum,  jr.'  Oh,  bosh,"  said 
Mae  suddenly,  letting  fly  her  streamers,  u  what 
a  dry  set  of  locusts  you  nineteenth  century 
leaders  are.  You  are  devouring  our  green 
land,  and  some  of  us  butterflies  would  like 
to  turn  our  yellow  wings  into  solid  shields 
against  you,  if  we  could.  There,  I've  made 
a  goose  of  myself  again  on  the  old  sub- 
ject. Edith,  there's  the  lunch  bell.  Take  me 
down  before  I  say  another  word."  Exeunt  femi- 
nines  all. 

" Where  did  the  child  pick  up  all  that?" 
queried  Albert. 

u  ;A11  that '  is  in  the  air  just  now,"  answered 
Norman.  u  It  is  a  natural  reaction  of  a  strong 
physical  nature  against  the  utilitarian  views  of 
the  day.  Miss  Mae  is  a  type  of— 

"  0,  nonsense,  what  prigs  you  are,"  interrupt- 
ed Eric,  "  Mae  is  jolly.  Do  stop  your  reason- 
ing about  her.  If  you  are  bound  to  be  a  potato 


22  MAE  MADDEN. 

yourself  to  help  save  the  masses  from  starva- 
tion, don't  grumble  because  she  grew  a  flower. 
Come,  let  us  go  to  lunch  too." 

Conversation  was  not  always  of  this  sort. 
One  evening,  not  long  after,  there  was  a  moon, 
and  Edith  and  Albert  were  missing.  Eric  was 
following  a  blue-eyed  girl  along  the  deck,  and 
Mae  and  Norman  wandered  off  by  themselves 
up  to  this  same  hurricane  deck  again.  The 
moonlight  was  wonderful.  It  touched  little 
groups  here  and  there  and  fell  full  on  the  face 
of  a  woman  in  the  steerage,  who  sat  with  her 
arms  crossed  on  her  knee  and  her  face  set  east- 
ward. She  was  singing,  and  her  voice  rose 
clearly  above  the  puff  of  the  engine  and  the 
jabber  below.  There  was  a  chorus  to  the  song, 
in  which  rough  men  and  tired  looking  women 
joined.  The  song  was  about  home,  and  once 
in  a  while  the  girl  unclasped  her  arms  and 
passed  her  hands  over  her  eyes.  Mae  and  Nor- 
man Mann  looked  at  her  silently.  "  I  suppose  * 
we  don't  know  when  we  make  pictures,"  said 
Mae.  a Don't  we?"  asked  Norman  pointedly. 
Mae  looked  very  reprovingly  out  from  her 
white  wraps  at  him,  but  he  smiled  back  compos- 
edly and  admiringly,  arid  drew  her  hand  a  trifle 
closer  in  his  arm.  And  saucy  Mae  began  to 


MAE  MADDEN.  23 

feel  in  that  sort  of  purring  mood  women  come 
to  when  they  drop  the  bristling,  ready-for-fight 
air  with  which  they  start  on  an  acquaintance. 
Perhaps,  if  the  steamer  had  been  a  sailing-ves- 
sel, there  would  have  been  no  story  to  tell 
about  Mae  Madden,  for  a  long  line  of  evenings, 
and  girls  singing  songs,  and  hurricane  decks 
by  moonlight,  are  dangerous  things.  But  the 
vessel  was  a  fast  steamer,  and  was  swiftly  near- 
ing  land  again. 


CHAPTER  II. 

ROME>  February,  18 — . 
Y  DEAR  MAMMA: — Yes,  it  is  Rome, 
mamma,  and  everybody  is  impressed. 
The  boys  talk  of  emperors  all  the 
time;  Edith  is  wild  over  Madonnas 
and  saints,  and  Mrs.  Jerrold  runs  from 
Paul's  house  to  Paul's  walks  and  Paul's 
drives  and  Paul's  stand  at  the  prisoner's 
bar,  and  reads  the  Acts  through  five  times  a 
day,  in  the  most  religious  and  Romanistic 
spirit.  No  one  could  make  more  fuss  over  a 
patron  saint,  I  am  sure.  For  my  part,  I  feel  as 
if  I  were  in  the  most  terrible  ghost  story. 
The  old  Romans  are  all  around  me.  Under- 
neath the  street  noises,  I  seem  to  hear  cries,  and 
in  the  air  I  half  see  a  constant  flashing  of 
swords  and  scars  and  blood,  and  I  can't  even 
put  my  foot  on  the  Roman  pavement  without 
wondering  which  dead  Caesar  my  saucy  Burt  boot 
No.  2  is  walking  over.  I  shouldn't  mind  tramp- 
ling old  Caligula,  but  I  don't  like  the  thought 
on  general  principles.  I  feel  all  out  of  place, 
so  modern  and  fixed  up  and  flimsy.  If  I  could 


MAE  MADDEN.  25 

get  into  old  picturesque  clothes  and  out  of  the 
English-speaking  quarter,  I  should  not  be  so 
oppressed  and  might  worship  Rome.  But  I 
seriously  think  I  shall  die  if  I  stay  here  much 
longer.  There's  a  spirit-malaria  that  eats  into 
my  life.  I  feel  as  if  all  the  volumes  of  Roman 
history  bound  in  heavy  vellum,  that  papa  has 
in  his  study,  were  laid  right  on  top  of  my  little 
heart,  so  that  every  time  it  beats,  it  thumps 
against  them,  and  I  assure  you,  mamma,  its 
worse  than  dyspepsia.  If  I  could  only  get  out 
on  a  New  England  hillside,  where  there  were 
no  graves  more  important  than  those  of 
grasshoppers  and  butterflies!  What  should  I  do 
when  I  got  there?  Take  off  my  hat,  and 
scream  for  joy,  and  feel  free  and  glad  to  be  in  a 
fresh  country,  with  rich,  warm,  untainted  earth 
and  young  life. 

But  all  this  is  nonsense,  mamma,  and  I 
shouldn't  be  writing  it,  if  I  hadn't  just  come 
from  the  catacombs  of  St.  Calixtus.  To  think 
of  Albert's  insisting  upon  going  there  the  very 
first  thing  !  But  so  he  did,  and  so  we  went, 
and  talked  solemnly  about  the  Appian  Way, 
and  saw  everybody's  tombs  and  ashes,  and 
quoted  poetry,  until  I  stuck  a  pin  in  Albert's 
arm  and  sang  Yankee  Doodle,  to  keep  from 


26  MAE  MADDEN. 

crying.  Then,  oh,  how  shocked  they  looked. 
Even  Mr.  Mann  seemed  ashamed  of  me.  When 
we  reached  the  place,  we  each  took  a  candle 
and  the  guide  led  the  way- down  into  the  bowels 
of  the  earth.  Mamma,  they  are  very  un- 
pleasant. There  were  two  German  youths 
along,  and  green  lizards  crawled  all  over.  They 
winked  at  me.  The  way  grew  so  narrow  that 
we  had  to  walk  one  by  one  through  lines  of 
wall  perforated  with  holes  for  dead  bodies. 
Once  in  a  while  we  would  come  to  a  small 
chapel,  for  miserable  variety's  sake,  and  be  told 
to  admire  some  very  old,  very  wretched  paint- 
ing. Jonah  and  the  whale  were  represented  in 
a  double-barreled  miracle  picture.  Not  only 
was  the  whale  about  to  swallow  Jonah,  but  he 
was  only  as  large  as  a  good-sized  brook  trout, 
while  Jonah  towered  away  above  him  like  a 
Goliath.  I  found  myself  wondering  if  the  guide 
had  convulsions,  and  if  he  should  have  one  now, 
and  die,  how  many  days  would  pass  before  we 
should  eat  each  other.  And  would  they  take 
me  first,  because  I  am  youngest  and  plumpest? 
Albert  would  make  good  soup  bones,  and  Eric's 
shoulder  serve  as  a  delicious  fore-quarter.  And 
by  the  time  we  came  to  the  top  again,  I  was  all 
ready  to  cry.  And  then,  mamma,  I  did  an 


MAE  MADDEN.  27 

awful  thing.  Mr.  Mann  exclaimed:  u  Why, 
Miss  Mae,  how  frightened  you  look.  You  are 
quite  white."  And  I  answered  very  sharply  : 
u  What  a  disagreeable  man  you  are.  I'm  not 
frightened  at  all."  I  said  it  in  a  dreadful  tone, 
and  how  his  face  changed.  He  looked  so 
strangely.  Everybody  was  still  but  Albert, 
and  he  said,  "  Why,  Mae,  you  are  very  rude 
to  Mr.  Mann.11  Even  then  I  didn't  apolo- 
gize. So  here  we  are  at  sword's  points,  and  all 
the  rest  sympathizing  with  my  foe,  who  is  only 
on  th6  defensive.  Why  am  I  such  a  belliger- 
ent? I  can7t  conceive  where  I  got  my  nature, 
unless  from  that  very  disagreeable  dear  old 
grandpapa  of  papa^,  who  fought  the  whole 
world  all  his  life.  But  how  egotistic  I  am,  even 
to  my  mother.  Of  course  you  want  to  know 
how  we  are  lodged  and  clothed  and  fed.  We 
have  taken  apartments,  as  I  presume  Albert 
wrote  you,  on  the  Via  San  Nicolo  da  Tolentino, 
quite  near  the  Costanzi  hotel,  which  is  in  the 
heigth  of  the  fashion  as  a  hotel;  near  too, 
which  is  better,  to  Mr.  Story's  studio  and  the 
old  Barberini  palace  and  the  Barberini  square 
and  fountains.  Off  behind,  is  that  terrible 
church  of  the  Cappucini,  with  its  cemetery 
underneath  of  bones  and  skulls  and  such 


28  MAE  MADDEN. 

horrors.  I  like  the  apartments  very  much, 
principally  because  I  have  made  three  staunch 
friends  and  one  good  enemy,  in  the  kitchen. 
The  padrona, — she's  the  woman  who  keeps  the 
house,  and  serves  us,  too,  in  this  case — though 
Mrs.  Jerrold  has  a  maid  to  wait  on  the  table 
and  care  for  our  rooms — well,  the  padrona  is 
my  first  friend.  Her  cousin,  a  handsome  south- 
ern Italian,  is  here  on  a  visit,  and  she  is  not 
only  my  friend,  but  my  instructress.  She  tells 
me  lovely  stories  about  her  home  and  the 
peasants  and  their  life,  while  I  sit  on  the  floor 
with  Giovanni, — friend  number  three  and  eldest 
son  of  the  padrona, — and  even  Roberto,  my 
enemy,  the  crying  baby  of  three  years,  hushes 
his  naughty  mouth  to  listen  to  Lisetta,  for  that 
is  the  cousin's  name.  I  am  so  glad  I  studied 
Italian  as  hard  as  I  did  for  my  music,  for  it 
comes  very  easily  to  me  now,  arid  already  I  slip 
the  pretty  words  from  my  halting  tongue 
much  more  smoothly  and  quickly  than  you 
would  imagine  I  could.  Mrs.  Jerrold  isn't 
quite  satisfied,  and  would  prefer  the  Costanzi, 
only  she  doesn't  believe  in  letting  us  girls  stay 
at  large  hotels.  She  and  Edith  are  shocked  at 
my  kitchen  tastes,  so  that  I  generally  creep  off 
quietly  and  say  nothing  about  it.  It  is  strange 


MAE'MADDEN.  29 

for  me  to  have  to  keep  anything  secret,  but  I 
am  learning  how. 

As  for  our  clothes,  0,  mamma,  Edith  is 
ravishing  in  a  deep  blue-black  silk,  with  a 
curly,  wavy  sort  of  fringe  on  it,  and  odd  loopings 
here  and  there  where  you  don't  expect  to  find 
them.  What  can't  a  Parisian  dressmaker  do? 
They  have  such  a  wonderful  idea  of  appropri- 
ateness, it  seems  to  me.  Now,  at  home  you 
know  we  girls  always  wear  the  same  sort  of 

thing,  but  Madame  H says  no,  Edith,  and 

I  should  dress  very  differently;  and  now  Edith's 
clothes  all  have  a  flow,  and  sweep,  and  grace 
about  them,  and  her  silks  rustle  in  a  stately 
way  as  she  walks,  while  my  dresses  haven't  any 
trimming  to  speak  of,  but  are  cut  in  a  clinging, 
square  sort  of  way,  with  jackets,  and  here  and 
there  a  buckle,  that  makes  me  feel  half  the  time 
as  if  I  were  playing  soldier  in  a  lady-like 
fashion.  But  what  a  budget  this  is.  How 
shocked  the  people  here  would  be.  They  take 
travel  so  solemnly,  mamma,  and  treat  Baedeker, 
like  the  Bible, — and  here  am  I  crushing  down 
Rome,  and  raising  Paris  on  top  of  it.  Indeed, 
I  can't  help  it,  for  Paris  is  utterly  intoxicating. 
It  takes  away  your  moral  nature  and  adds  it 
all  into  your  powers  of  enjoyment.  Well, 


30  MAE  MADDEN. 

good-bye,  my  dear,  and  keep  writing  me  tre- 
mendous letters,  won't  you  ;  for  I  do  love  you 
dearly. 

Your  loving  daughter, 

MAE. 

Mae  felt  a  great  deal  better  when  she  had 
finished  the  letter,  and,  like  a  volatile  girl  HS 
she  was,  buttoned  her  Burt  boots  and  Paris 
gloves,  singing  gaily  a  dash  from  Trovatore  in 
a  very  light-hearted  manner. 

"  Why,  you  look  like  a  different  girl,"  cried 
Eric,  as  she  entered  the  parlor,  where  he  and 
Mr.  Mann  were  sitting.  "  Mrs.  Jerrold,  Edith, 
and  Albert  have  gone  on  in  a  carriage,  and  you 
are  left  to  my  tender  care  ;  will  you  ride  or 

walk  ?" 

u  How  can  you  ask?  My  feet  are  quite  wild. 
No  wonder  I  am  a  different  girl.  Are  we  not 
going  to  the  Pincian  hill  to  look  at  the  live 
world  and  people?  I  have  just  unlocked  the 
stop-gates  and  let  the  blood  bound  in  my  veins 
as  it  wants  to." 

"  It  has  been  taking  the  cinque-pace,  I  should 
say  from  your  long  face  to-day." 

"  0,  it  has  only  been  trying  to  keep  step 
with  the  march  of  the  ages,  or  some  such 


MAE  MADDEN.  31 

stately  tread,  but  it  was  hard  work,  and  now 
the  dear  life  of  me  hops,  skips  and  jumps,  like 
this,"  and  Mae  seized  her  brother  and  danced 
across  the  room,  stopping  very  near  Mr.  Mann, 
who  stood  with  his  back  to  them,  drumming 
on  the  window  pane.  She  looked  at  him  quiz- 
zically and  half  raised  her  eyebrows. 

Eric  shook  his  head,  and  said  aloud  in  his 
outspoken  way:  "You  owe  him  an  apology, 
Mae,  for  this  morning's  rudeness." 

Mr.  Mann  turned  quickly.  "  I  am  surprised, 
Eric.  Let  your  sister  find  out  for  herself  when 
she  is  rude." 

u  Bless  me,"  cried  Eric,  "  what  is  the  row?" 

Mae  looked  determined.  "  Are  you  going  to 
the  Pincian  with  us?"  she  asked. 

u  No,  I  am  going  to  stay  home." 

u  Well,  good-bye,  then.  Come,  Eric."  The 
door  closed  behind  them. 

Mr.  Mann  stood  by  the  window  and  watched 
them  walk  away.  Mae,  with  her  eager,  restless, 
fresh  life  showing  out  in  every  motion;  Eric, 
with  his  boy-man  air  and  his  student  swing 
and  happy-go-lucky  toss  of  his  head.  Mr. 
Mann  smiled  and  then  he  sighed.  u  That's  a 
good  boy,  so  square  and  fair  and  merry — and  a 
queer  girl,"  he  added.  "  Rome  isn't  the  place 


MADDEX. 


for  her.  She  must  get  away,  though  why  I 
should  take  care  for  her.  or  worry  about  her, 
little  vixen.  I  don't  see."  Still  he  smiled  as 
one  would  over  a  very  winning,  very  wicked 
child,  and  shortly  after  took  his  hat  and  went 
to  the  Pincio,  after  all. 

Meantime,  the  brother  and  sister  had  walked 
gaily  along,  passed  the  Spanish  Steps,  and 
were  on  the  Pincian  hill.  Here,  Mae  was  in- 
deed happy.  The  fine  equipages  and  dark. 
rich  beauty  of  the  Italians  delighted  her,  and 
she  and  Eric  found  a  shaded  bench,  and  watched 
the  carriages  drive  round  and  round,  and  criti- 
cised, and  admired,  and  laughed  like  two  idle 
children.  They  bought  some  flowers,  and 
Mae  sat  pulling  them  to  pieces,  when  they 
caught  sight,  down  the  pathway,  of  two  ap- 
proaching Piedniontese  officers. 

"  0,"  cried  Mae,  and  dropped  her  flowers,  and 
clasped  her  hands,  and  sprang  to  her  feet,  "  0, 
Eric,  are  they  gods  or  men?" 

The  Piedniontese  officer  is  godlike.  He  must 
be  of  a  certain  imposing  height  to  obtain  his 
position,  and  his  luxurious  yellow  moustaches 
and  blue  black  eyes,  enriched  and  intensified 
by  southern  blood,  give  him  a  strange  fasci- 
nation. The  cold,  manly  beauty  and  strength 


MAE  MADDEN.  33 

of  a  northern  blonde  meet  with  the  heat  and 
lithe  grace  of  the  more  supple  southerner  to 
produce  this  paragon.  There  is  a  combination 
of  half-indolent  elegance  and  sensuous  langour, 
with  a  fire,  a  verve,  a  nobility,  that  puts  him  at 
the  very  head  of  masculine  beauty.  Add  to  the 
charms  of  his  physique,  the  jauntiest,  most  be- 
witching of  uniforms,  the  clinking  spurs,  the 
shining  buttons,  the  jacket  following  every  line 
of  his  figure,  and  no  wonder  maidens'  hearts 
seek  him  out  always  and  young  pnlses  beat 
quicker  at  his  approach. 

Mae's  admiration  was  simply  rapturous. 
Utterly  regardless  of  the  pretty  picture  she 
herself  made,  of  her  vivid  coloring  and  spark- 
ling beauty,  she  stood  among  her  dropped 
flowers  until  the  two  pairs  of  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  her.  Then  she  became  suddenly  aware  of 
her  attitude  and  with  quick  feminine  cunning 
endeavored  to  transfer  her  admiration  to  some 
beautiful  horses  cantering  by,  exclaiming  in 
Italian,  that  the  officers  might  surely  under- 
stand she  was  thinking  only  of  the  fine  ani- 
mals: "  0,  what  wonderful  horses!" 

The  foreign  pronunciation,  Eric's  amuse- 
ment, Mae's  confusion,  were  not  lost  upon  the 
men.  Their  curiosity  was  piqued,  their  eyes 


34  MAE  MADDEN. 

and  pride  gratified.  They  sauntered  leisurely 
past,  only  to  turn  a  corner  and  quicken  their 
steps  again  toward  the  bench  where  Eric  and 
Mae  were  seated.  They  found  the  brother  and 
sister  just  arising,  and  followed  them  slowly. 

An  Italian  is  quick  to  detect  secrets.  The 
two  had  not  proceeded  far  before  one  said  to 
the  other:  "Eh,  Luigi,  we  are  not  the  only  in- 
terested party.1' 

Luigi  looked  slowly  around  and  saw  a  crowd 
of  Italian  loungers  gazing  at  the  little  stranger 
with  their  softly-bold  black  eyes  full  of  admir- 
ation. He  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly. 
"  Bah,  they  gaze  in  that  way  at  all  womankind. 
See,  now  they  are  watching  the  next  one,"  and 
as  he  spoke,  the  boys  turned  with  one  accord  to 
stare  at  a  young  Italian  girl,  who  pressed  closer 
to  the  side  of  her  hook-nosed  old  duenna. 

"  It  is  not  those  loungers  that  I  noticed,"  re- 
plied the  other.  ci  Look  there,"  and  he  waved 
his  hand  lightly  toward  the  left,  where,  under  a 
large-leafed  tree,  gazing  apparently  in  idleness, 
stood  a  young  man. 

"  Ah,"  said  Luigi,  still  incredulous,  "  he  sees 
nothing  but  Rome;  he  is  fresh  from  over  the 
seas." 

"  No,  no,  watch  his  eyes,"  replied  the  other. 


MAE  MADDEN.  35 

They  were  assuredly  fixed,  with  a  keen  search- 
ing glance,  on  a  little  form  before  them,  and  as 
Eric  and  Mae  suddenly  turned  to  the  left,  the 
stranger,  half  carelessly,  but  very  quickly, 
crossed  to  another  path,  from  which  he  could 
watch  them,  but  be,  in  his  turn,  unobserved. 

u  Jealous,11  laughed  Luigi,  shrugging  his 
shoulders  again.  "  Her  lover,  probably." 

"  No,"  replied  Bero,  st  but  he  may  be  some 
time."  Then  after  a  moment's  pause,  "Good 
evening,"  he  said'  carelessly.  u  I  am  going  to 
say  my  prayers  at  vespers.  I've  been  a  sorry 
scamp  of  late." 

Luigi  laughed  disdainfully  and  lightly.  "You 
want  to  get  rid  of  me?  Well,  be  it  so.  I 
don't  want  to  lose  my  heart  over  a  little  for- 
eigner. I  have  other  game.  However,  Lillia 
shall  not  know  of  it.  Addio,  Bero."  So  Luigi 
went  off  the  other  way,  and  Bero,  with  a  flushed 
face,  followed  Mae  at  a  distance,  and  kept  an 
eye  on  the  stranger,  flattering  himself  that  he 
was  quite  unnoticed  by  those  sharp,  keen  eyes. 
He  was  mistaken.  Norman  Mann  had  seen  the 
officers  before  they  saw  him,  had  watched  their 
footsteps,  and  had  a  pretty  clear  idea  of  the 
whole  affair. 

Mae  walked  on  happily,  chatting  with  Eric, 


36  MAE  MADDEN. 

and  with  that  vague,  delightful  feeling  of  some- 
thing exciting  in  the  air.  She  knew  there  was 
an  officer  behind  her,  because  she  had  heard  the 
clicking  spurs,  but  she  only  guessed  that  he 
might  be  one  of  the  two  who  had  passed — the 
taller,  perhaps, — which,  of  course,  he  was.  She 
had,  moreover,  in  some  mysterious  way,  caught 
sight  of  a  figure  resembling  Norman  Mann, 
trying,  she  thought,  to  avoid  her.  Her  spirits 
rose  with  the  half-mystery,  and  she  grew 
brighter  and  prettier  and  more  magnetic  to  the 
two  followers  as  she  tossed  her  shoulders 
slightly  and  now  and  then  half-turned  her 
sunny  head. 

As  for  Eric,  he  was  totally  unconscious  of 
any  secrets.'  He  fancied  himself  and  his  pretty, 
nice,  little  sister  all  alone  by  their  very  selves, 
and  he  went  so  far  as  to  expatiate  on  the  vast- 
ness  of  the  world,  and  how  in  this  crowd  there 
was  no  other  life  that  bordered  or  touched  on 
theirs. 

To  which  Mae  replied:  uYou  don't  know; 
you  may  fall  in  love  with  one  of  these  very 
Italian  girls,  or  my  future  husband  may  be 
walking  behind  me  now."  When  she  had  said 
this,  she  flushed  scarlet  and  was  very  much 
ashamed  of  herself  in  her  heart. 


MAE  MADDEN.  37 

"  We  must  go  home  now,"  Eric  replied, 
quite  disdaining  such  sybilistic  remarks.  So 
they  left  the  hill  and  went  down  the  Steps  in 
the  rich  afternoon  light,  and  so  home- 
wards. Of  course  the  Italian  and  Mr.  Mann 
still  followed  them  ;  Norman  on  the  other  side 
of  the  street,  the  Italian  in  a  slyer,  less  con- 
spicuous manner,  by  taking  side  streets,  or  the 
next  parallel  pavement,  and  appearing  only 
at  every  corner  in  the  distance.  He  appeared, 
however,  close  at  hand,  as  Mae  and  Eric  turned 
into  their  lodgings.  His  eyes  met  Mae's.  She 
blushed  involuntarily  as  she  recognized  him, 
and  at  once,  in  that  moment,  there  was  an  in- 
visible half-acquaintance  established  between 
the  two.  If  they  should  ever  meet  again,  they 
would  remember  each  other. 

Mae  crept  off  to  the  kitchen  that  evening,  to 
beg  for  another  of  Lisetta's  stories,  and  quite 
forgot  her  walk,  the  officer,  and  Norman  Mann 
while  she  listened  to  fche 

STORY  OF   TALILA. 

Talila  was  a  young  girl,  destined  to  be  a 
nun.  She  was  a  naughty  little  girl  and  would 
make  wry  faces  at  the  thought,  and  wish  she 
could  be  a  man,  a  soldier  or  a  sailor,  instead  of 


38  MAE  MADDEN. 

being  a  woman  and  a  nun  ;  and  as  she  grew 
older  she  would  dance  all  the  time,  and  didn't 
say  her  prayers  very  much,  and  was  so  bad 
that  the  priest  sent  for  her  to  see  him.  He 
told  her  how  wicked  she  was,  and  that,  too, 
when  she  was  to  be  the  bride  of  the  church  ; 
but  she  said  the  church  had  many,  many 
brides,  and  she  would  rather  be  the  bride  of 
Giovanni ;  and  that  she  loved  red-cheeked  ba- 
bies better  than  beads,  and  songs  were  nicer 
than  prayers.  Should  she  sing  him  such  a 
pretty,  gay  one  she  knew?  And  the  priest 
could  hardly  keep  from  laughing  at  the  bright- 
eyed,  naughty,  naughty  Talila.  But  he  said  : 
"  If  Giovanni  does  not  want  to  marry  you,  will 
you  then  become  the  bride  of  the  church  ?  " 
And  Talila  laughed  aloud  and  tossed  her  head. 
u  Giovanni  longs  to  marry  me,  Father,1'  she 
said,  "  I  know  that  already."  But  the  Father 
sent  for  Giovanni  and  gave  him  money  if  he 
would  say  he  did  not  want  to  marry  Talila. 
At  first  he  would  not  say  so.  but  the  Father 
showed  him  a  purse  all  full  of  silver,  which 
Talila's  mother  had  brought  him,  for  it  was 
she  who  had  vowed  Talila  should  be  a  nun. 
Then  the  Father  said  :  u  This  is  yours  if  you 
say  as  I  wish,  and  if  not,  you  shall  be  cursed 


MAE  MADDEN.  39 

forever,  arid  all  your  children  shall  be  cursed, 
because  you  have  married  the  bride  of  the 
church."  Then  Giovanni  crossed  himself  and 
took  the  bag  of  silver,  and  the  priest  sent 
for  Talila,  and  she  heard  her  Giovanni  say 
he  didn't  want  to  marry  her — she  had  bet- 
ter be  a  nun  ;  and  she  threw  up  her  brown 
arms  and  screamed  aloud,  and  fell  down  as 
if  dead.  And  afterwards  she  was  very  ill, 
and  when  she  grew  better  she  had  forgotten 
everything  and  was  only  a  little  child,  and  she 
loves  little  children,  and  is  ever  with  them,  but 
she  calls  them  all  Giovanni.  They  play  to- 
gether by  the  bay  through  the  long  day,  and 
at  night  she  takes  them  to  their  mothers,  and 
goes  alone  to  her  home.  But  alas  !  she  never 
tells  her  beads,  or  prays  a  prayer,  and  sorry 
things  are  said  of  her — that  God  gave  her  up 
because  she  left  Him.  But  the  children  all 
love  her,  and  she  loves  them. 


CHAPTER  III. 

jjDITH  and  Mae  had  a  quarrel  one 
morning.  Mae's  tongue  was  sharp, 
but  although  she  breezed  quickly,  she 
calmed  again  very  soon.  The  latter 
fact  availed  her  little  this  time,  for  Edith 
maintained  a  cold  displeasure  that  would  not 
be  melted  by  any  bright  speeches  or  frank  apolo- 
gies. "  Edith,"  said  little  Miss  Mae,  quite 
humbly  for  her,  as  she  put  on  her  hat,  and  drew 
on  her  gloves,  "  Edith,  aren't  you  going  out  with 
me?"  "  What  for?"  asked  that  young  person 
indifferently. 

"Why — for  fun,  and  to  make  up.  Haven't 
you  forgiven  me  yet?  " 

Edith  did  not  reply  directly.  "  I  am  going 
out  with  mamma  to  buy  our  dominoes  for  the 
Carnival,  and  to  see  our  balcony.  Albert  has 
engaged  one  for  us,  on  the  corner  of  the  Corso 
and  Santa  Maria  e  Jesu.  I  suppose  you  can  go 
too.  There  will  be  an  extra  seat.  We'll  come 
home  by  the  Pincian  Hill." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mae,  "  but  I  will  get  Eric 
and  go  for  a  tramp,"  and  she  left  the  room  with 


MAE  MADDEN.  41 

compressed  lips  and  flushed  cheeks.  In  the 
hall  were  Albert,  Eric  and  Norman,  talking 
busily.  "  Where  are  you  going  Eric,  mayn't  I 
go  too,  please?"  "I'm  sorry  Mae,  but  this  is 
an  entirely  masculine  affair — five-button  gloves 
and  parasols  are  out  of  the  question." 

"  0,  Ric,  I  am  half  lonely."  Mae  laughed  a 
little  hysterically.  At  that  moment  she  caught 
Mr.  Mann's  eyes,  full  of  sympathy.  "  But  good- 
bye," she  added,  and  opened  the  door,  u  I'm 
going." 

"Alone?  "  asked  Norman,  involuntarily. 

"  Yes,  alone,"  replied  Mae.  "  Have  you  any 
objections,  boys?"  Eric  and  Albert  were 
talking  busily  and  did  not  hear  her.  Norman 
Mann  held  open  the  door  for  her  to  pass  out, 
and  smiled  as  she  thanked  him.  She  smiled 
back.  She  came  very  nea,r  saying,  "  I'm  sorry 
I  was  rude  the  other  day,  forgive  me,"  and  he 
came  very  near  saying,  "  May  I  go  with  you, 
Miss  Mae?  "  But  they  neither  of  them  spoke, 
and  Norman  closed  the  door  with  a  sigh,  and 
Mae  walked  away  with  a  sigh.  It  was  only  a 
little  morning's  experience,  sharp  words,  mis- 
understandings; but  the  child  was  young,  far 
from  home  and  her  mother,  and  it  seemed  hard 
to  her.  She  was  in  a  very  wild  mood,  a  very 


42  MAE  MADDEN. 

hard  mood,  and  yet  all  ready  to  be  softened  by 
a  kind,  sympathetic  word,  so  nearly  do  extremes 
of  emotion  meet. 

"  There's  no  one  to  care  a  pin  about  me,"  said 
she  to  herself,  "  not  a  pin.  I  have  a  great  mind 
to  go  and  take  the  veil  or  drown  myself  in  the 
Tiber.  Then  they  would  be  bound  to  search  for 
me,  and  convent  vows  and  Tiber  mud  hold  one 
fast.  No,  I  won't,  I'll  go  and  sit  in  the  Pincian 
gardens  and  talk  Italian  with  the  very  first 
person  I  meet  and  forget  all  about  myself.  I 
wish  Mr.  Mann  wouldn't  pity  me.  Dear  me, 
here  I  am  remembering  these  forlorn  people 
again.  I  wish  I  could  see  mamma  and 
home  this  morning, — the  dear  old  library.  Why 
the  house  is  shut  up  and  mamma's  south.  I 
forgot  that,  and  here  am  I  all  alone.  It  is  like 
being  dead.  There,  I  have  dropped  a  tear  on 
my  tie  and  spoiled  it!  Besides,  if  one  is  dead, 
there  comes  Heaven.  Why  shouldn't  I  play 
dead,  and  make  my  own  Heaven?  "  Here  Mae 
seated  herself,  for  she  was  on  the  Pincio  by  this 
time,  and  looked  off  at  the  view,  at  that  won- 
derful view  of  St.  Peter's,  the  Tiber,  all  the 
domes  and  rising  ruins  and  afar  the  campagna. 
"  I  wouldn't  make  my  Heaven  here,"  thought 
this  dreadful  Mae,  "  not  if  it  is  beautiful.  I'd 


MAE  MADDEN.  43 

not  stay  here  a  single  other  day.  Bah  no!" 
and  she  shook  her  irreverent  little  fist  right 
down  at  the  Eternal  City. 

At  this  moment,  a  small  beggar,  who  had 
been  pleading  unnoticed  at  her  side,  was  lifted 
from  his  feet  by  a  powerful  hand,  and  a  shower 
of  soft  Italian  imprecations  fell  on  Mae's  ear. 
She  sprang  up  quickly,  "  No,  no,"  she  cried  in 
Italian,  "how  dare  you  hurt  a  harmless  boy ?" 
She  lifted  her  face  full  toward  that  of  the  man 
who  had  inspired  her  wrath,  and  her  eyes  met 
those  of  the  Piedmontese  officer.  She  blushed 
scarlet. 

"  Pardon,  a  thousand  pardons,"  began  he.  "It 
was  for  your  sake,  Signorina.  I  saw  you  shake 
your  hand  that  he  should  leave  you,  and  I  fan- 
cied that  the  little  scamp  was  troubling  the 
foreign  lady." 

Mae  laughed  frankly,  although  she  was  great- 
ly confused.  The  officer  and  the  beggar  boy 
behind  him  waited  expectantly.  "  I  shook  my 
hand  at  my  thoughts,"  she  explained.  "  I  did 
not  see  the  boy.  Forgive  me,  Signor,  for  my 
hasty  words." 

The  officer  enjoyed  her  confusion  quietly. 
He  threw  a  handful  of  small  coin  at  the  beggar, 
and  bade  him  go.  Then  he  turned  again  to 
3 


44  MAE  MADDEN. 

Mae.  "  I  am  sorry,  Signorina,  that  your 
thoughts  are  sad.  I  should  think  they  would 
all  be  like  sweet  smiles."  He  said  this  with  an 
indescribable  delicacy  and  gallantry,  as  if  he 
half  feared  to  speak  to  her,  but  his  sympathy 
must  needs  express  itself. 

Mae  was,  as  we  have  seen,  in  a  reckless,  wild 
mood.  She  did  not  realize  what  she  was  doing. 
She  had  just  broken  down  all  barriers  in  her 
mind,  was  dead  to  her  old  life,  and  ready  to  plan 
for  Heaven.  And  here  before  her  stood  a 
wonderful,  sympathizing,  new  friend,  who  spoke 
in  a  strange  tongue,  lived  in  a  strange  land,  was 
as  far  removed  from  her  old-time  people  and 
society  as  an  inhabitant  of  Saturn,  or  an  angel. 
She  accepted  him  under  her  excitement,  as  she 
would  have  accepted  them.  No  waiting  for 
an  introduction,  no  formal  Betting-acquainted 
talk,  no  reserve.  She  looked  into  the  devoted, 
interested  eyes  above  her,  and  said  frankly : 

"  I  was  feeling  all  alone,  and  I  hate  Rome.  I 
thought  I  would  like  to  play  I  was  dead,  and 
plan  out  a  Heaven  for  myself.  It  should  not  be 
in  Rome.  And  then  I  suppose  I  shook  my  fist." 

"  Where  would  your  Heaven  be?  "  asked  the 
Piedmontese,  falling  quickly,  with  ready  south- 
ern sympathy,  into  her  mood.  Mae  seated  her- 


MAE  MADDEN.  45 

self  on  the  bench  and  made  room  for  him  at 
her  side. 

"  Where  should  it  be?"  she  repeated.  u  Down 
among  the  children  of  the  sun,  all  out  in  the 
rich  orange  fields,  by  the  blue  Bay  of  Naples, 
I  think,  with  Vesuvius  near  by,  and  Capri;  yes, 
it  would  be  in  Sorrento  that  I  should  find  my 
heaven." 

The  officer  smiled  under  his  long  moustaches. 
"  For  three  days, — at  a  hotel,  Signorina." 

"  No,  no;  with  the  peasants.  I  am  tired  and 
sick  of  books,  and  people,  and  reasons.  Shall 
I  give  you  a  day  of  my  Heaven?" 

Bero  smiled  and  bent  slightly  forward  and 
rested  his  hand  lightly  on  the  stick  of  her  para- 
sol, which  lay  between  them.  "  Go  on,"  he 
said. 

u  I  would  fill  my  apron  with  sweet  flowers 
and  golden  fruit — great  oranges,  and  those  frag- 
rant, delicious  tiny  mandarins — and  I  would  get 
a  crowd  of  little  Italians  about  me,  all  a-bab- 
bling  their  pretty,  pretty  tongue,  and  I  would  go 
down  to  the  bay  and  get  in  an  anchored  boat, 
and  lie  there  all  the  morning,  catching  the  sun- 
light in  my  eyes,  trimming  the  brown  babies 
and  the  boat  with  flowers ,  looking  off  at  the 
water  and  the  clouds,  tossing  the  pretty  fruit, 


46  MAE  MADDEN. 

and  laughing,  and  playing,  and  enjoying.  Later, 
there'd  be  a  run  on  the  beach,  and  a  ride  on  a 
donkey,  and  a  dance,  with  delirious  music  and 
frolic.  And  then  the  moon  and  quiet, — and  I 
would  steal  away  from  the  crowd,  and  take  a 
little  boat,  and  float  and  drift — 

"  Alone?"  asked  Bero,  softly.  "Surely,  you 
wouldn't  condemn  a  mountaineer's  yellow  mous- 
tache, or  a  soldier's  spurs  and  sword,  if  at  heart 
he  was  really  a  child  of  the  sun  also?  May  I 
share  your  day  of  Heaven  ?  It  would  be  para- 
dise for  me,  too."  All  this  in  the  same  soft, 
deferential  manner. 

"  Well,  well,''  half  laughed,  half  sighed  Mae. 
"  All  this  is  a  dream,  unless,  indeed,  I  go  home 
with  Lisetta." 

uWhoisLisetta?" 

u  QiiYpadrona's  cousin.  She  is  here  on  a  visit. 
She  lives  within  a  mile  of  Sorrento,  on  the  coast. 
She  goes  home  at  the  end  of  Carnival.  Oh,  how 
I  do  long  for  Carnival,"  continued  Mae,  frankly 
and  confidentially.  u  Don't  you?  I  am  like  a 
child  over  it.  I  am  trying  already  to  persuade 
Eric — that  is  my  brother — to  take  me  down  on 
the  Corso  the  last  night,  for  the  Mocoletti.  It 
would  be  much  better  fun  than  staying  on  our 
balcony." 


MAE  MADDEN.  47 

"Where  is  your  balcony?"  asked  Bero, strok- 
ing his  long  moustaches. 

"It  is  on  the  corner  of  Maria  e  Jesu,  and 
if  I  ever  see  you  coming  by,  I  shall  be  tempted 
to  pepper  your  pretty  uniform.  How  beautiful 
it  is!" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Bero,  again  gazing  proudly 
down  at  his  lithe  figure,  in  its  well-fitting 
clothes,  "  but  I  would  be  willing  to  be  showered 
with  confetti  daily  to  see  you.  How  shall  I 
know  you?  What  is  to  be  the  color  of  your 
domino?"  And  he  bent  forward,  hitting  his 
spurs  against  the  paving  stones,  flashing  his  deep 
eyes,  and  half  reaching  out  his  hand,  in  that 
same  tender,  respectful -way. 

Mae  saw  the  sunlight  strike  his  hair;  she  half 
heard  his  deep  breath;  and,  like  a  flood,  there 
suddenly  swept  over  her  the  knowledge  that 
this  new  friend,  this  sympathizing  soul,  was  an 
unknown  man,  and  that  she  was  a  girl.  What 
had  she  done?  What  could  she  do?  Confu- 
sion and  embarrassment  suddenly  overtook  her. 
She  bent  her  eyes  away  from  those  other  eyes, 
that  were  growing  bolder  and  more  tender  in 
their  gaze.  "I — I — "  she  began,  and  just  at 
this  very  inauspicious  moment,  while  she  sat 
there,  flushed,  by  the  stranger's  side,  the  clatter 


48  MAE  MADDEN. 

of  swiftly-approaching  wheels  sounded,  and  a 
carriage  turned  the  corner,  containing  Mrs.  Jer- 
rold,  Edith,  Albert,  and  Norman  Mann.  They 
all  saw  her. 

Mae  laughed.  It  was  such  a  dreadful  situa- 
tion that  it  was  funny,  and  she  laughed  again. 
u  Those  are  my  friends,1'  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
u  We  can  walk  away,"  replied  the  officer,  and 
turned  his  face  in  the  opposite  direction.  u  It  is 
too  late;  and,  besides,  why  should  we?"  And 
Mae  looked  full  in  his  face,  then  turned  to  the 
carriage,  which  was  close  upon  them. 

"How  do  you  all  do?1'  she  cried,  gleefully 
and  bravely.  "  Isn't  there  room  for  me  in  there  ? 
Mrs.  Jerrold,  I  would  like  to  introduce  Signor — 
your  name?" — she  said,  quite  clearly,  in  Italian, 
turning  to  the  officer. 

"  Bero,"  he  replied. 

u  Signor  Bero.  He  was  very  kind,  and  saved 
me  from — from  a  little  beggar  boy." 

uYou  must  have  been  in  peril,  indeed,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Jerrold,  bowing  distantly  to  Bero, 
and  beckoning  the  coachman,  as  Mae  sprang 
into  the  carriage,  to  drive  on.  "  I  am  sorry  to 
put  you  on  the  box,  Norman,"  Mrs.  Jerrold 
added,  as  Mae  took  the  seat,  in  silence,  that  Mr. 
Mann  had  vacated  for  her,  "  and  I  hope  Miss 


MAE  MADDEN.  49 

Mae  is  also."  But  Mae  didn't  hear  this.  She 
was  plucking  up  courage  in  her  heart,  and 
assuming  a  saucy  enough  expression,  that  sat 
well  on  her  bright  face.  Indeed,  she  was  a 
pretty  picture,  as  she  sat  erect,  with  lips  and 
nostrils  a  trifle  distended,  and  her  head  a  little 
in  the  air.  The  Italian  thought  so,  as  he  walked 
away,  smiling  softly,  clicking  his  spurs  and 
stroking  his  moustache;  and  Norman  Mann 
thought  so  too,  as  he  tapped  his  cane  rest- 
lessly on  the  dash-board  and  scowled  at  the  left 
ear  of  the  off  horse.  The  party  preserved  an 
amazed  and  stiff  silence,  as  they  drove  home- 
ward. 

u  Eric,"  cried  Norman,  very  late  that  same 
night.  "  Do  be  sober,  I  have  something  to  say 
to  you  about  Miss  Mae." 

"  Norman,  old  boy,  how  can  a  fellow  of  my 
make  be  sober  when  he  has  drunk  four  glasses 
of  wine,  waltzed  fifteen  times,  and  torn  six 
flounces  from  a  Paris  dress?  Why,  man,  I  am 
delirious,  I  am.  Tra,  la,  la,  tra,  la,  la.  Oh, 
Norman,  if  you  could  have  heard  that  waltz," 
and  Eric  seized  his  companion  in  his  big  arms 
and  started  about  the  room  in  a  mad  dance. 
"  You  are  Miss  Hopkins,  Norman,  you  are 
Here  goes —  but  Norman  struck  out  a  bold 


50  MAE  MADDEN. 

stroke  that  nearly  staggered  Eric  and  broke 
loose.  "  For  Heaven's  sake,  Eric,  stop  this  fool- 
ing; I  want  to  speak  to  you  earnestly.1' 

u  Evidently,"  replied  Eric,  with  excited  face, 
"  forcibly  also.  Blows  belong  after  words,  not 
before,"  and  the'  big  boy  tramped  indignantly 
off  to  bed. 

Norman  Mann  was  in  earnest  truly,  forcible 
also,  for  he  opened  his  mouth  to  let  out  a  very 
expressive  word  as  Eric  left  the  room.  It  did 
him  good  seemingly,  for  he  strode  up  and  down 
more  quietly.  At  last  he  sat  down  and  began 
to  talk  with  himself.  *l  Norman  Mann,  you've 
got  to  do  it  all  alone,"  he  said.  u  Albert  and 
Edith  and  Aunt  Martha  are  too  vexed  and 
shocked  to  do  the  little  rebel  any  good.  Ric, 
oh,  dear,  Ric  is  a  silly  boy,  Grod  bless  him,  and 
here  I  am  doomed  to  make  that  child  hate  me, 
and  with  no  possible  authority  over  her,  or 
power,  for  that  matter,  trying  to  keep  her  from 
something  terribly  wild.  If  they  don't  look 
out,  she  will  break  loose.  I  knoAv  her  well,  and 
there's  strong  character  under  this  storm  a-top, 
if  only  some  one  could  get  at  it.  Damn  it." 
Norman  grew  forcible  again.  "  Why  can't  I 
keep  my  silly  eyes  away  from  her,  and  go  off 
with  the  fellows.  You  see,"  continued  Norman, 


MAE  MADDEN.  51 

still  addressing  his  patient  double,  "  she  is  a 
rebel,  and — pshaw,  I  daresay  it  is  half  my  fancy, 
but  I  hate  that  long  moustached  officer.  I 
wish  he  would  be  summoned  to  the  front  and  be 
shot.  0,  I  forgot,  there's  no  war.  Well,  then, 
I  wish  he  would  fall  in  love  with  any  body  but 
Mae.  It  must  be  late.  Ric  didn't  leave  that 
little  party  very  early,  I'm  sure,  but  I  can't 
sleep.  I'll  get  down  my  Sismondi  and  read 
awhile.  I  wonder  if  that  child  is  feeling  badly 
now.  I  half  believe  she  is — but  here's  my 
book.1' 

Yes,  Mae  was  feeling  badly,  heart-brokenly, 
all  alone  in  her  room.  After  a  long,  harrowing 
talk  with  Mrs.  Jerrold,  at  the  close  of  which  she 
had  received  commands  never  to  go  out  alone  in 
Rome,  because  it  wasn't  proper,  she  had  been  al- 
lowed to  depart  for  her  own  room.  Here  she 
closed  the  door  leading  into  Mrs.  Jerrold's  and 
Edith's  apartment,  and  opened  her  window 
wide,  and  held  her  head  out  in  the  night  air — 
the  poisonous  Roman  air.  The  street  was  very 
quiet.  Now  and  then  some  late  wayfarer  passed 
under  the  light  at  the  corner,  but  Mae  had, 
on  the  whole,  a  desolate  outlook — high,  dark 
buildings  opposite,  and  black  clouds  above,  with 
only  here  and  there  a  star  peeping  through. 


52  MAE  MADDEN. 

She  had  taken  down  her  long  hair,  thrown 
off  her  dress,  and  half  wrapped  herself  in  a 
shawl,  out  of  which  her  bare  arms  stretched  as 
she  leaned  on  the  deep  window  seat.  She  looked 
like  the  first  woman — of  the  Darwinian,  not  the 
Biblical,  Creation.  There  was  a  wild,  half-hunt- 
ed expression  on  her  face  that  was  like  the  set 
air  of  an  animal  brought  suddenly  to  bay.  She 
thought  in  little  jerks,  quick  sentences  that 
were  almost  like  the  barking  growls  with  which 
a  beast  lashes  itself  to  greater  fury. 

"They  treated  me  unfairly.  They  had  no 
right.  I  shall  choose  my  own  friends.  How 
dare  they  accuse  me  of  flirting  ?  I  flirt,  pah ! 
I'd  like  to  run  away.  This  stupid,  stupid  life!  " 
And  so  on  till  the  sentences  grew  more  human. 
"  I  suppose  Mr.  Mann  thinks  I  am  horrid,  but  I 
don't  care.  I  wish  I  could  see  Eric,  he  wouldn't 
blame  me  so.  What  a  goose  I  am  to  mind 
anyway.  The  Carnival  is  coming!  Even  these 
old  tombs  must  give  way  for  ten  whole  riotous 
days.  I  must  make  them  madly  merry  days. 
I  wonder  how  I  will  look  in  my  domino.  I  sup- 
pose the  pink  one  is  mine.'1 

So  Miss  Mae  dried  her  eyes,  picked  her  desha- 
bille self  from  the  window  seat,  turned  up  the 
light,  slipped  into  her  pink  and  white  car- 
nival attire,  and  walked  to  the  window  again. 


MAE  MADDEN.  53 

"  This  is  the  Corso  all  full  of  people,  and  I'll 
pelt  them  merrily,  so,  and  so,  and  so!"  She 
reached  forth  her  bare,  round  arm  into  the  dark- 
ness, and  looked  down,  where,  full  under  the 
street  light,  gazing  up  at  her,  stood  the  Pied- 
montese  officer. 

It  was  at  that  very  moment  that  Norman 
Mann  put  down  his  Sismondi,  and  looked 
from  his  window  also. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

,1AE  met  Mr.  Mann  at  the  breakfast 
table  the  next  morning  without  the 
least  embarrassment.  Indeed,  the  lit- 
tle flutter  in  her  talk  could  easily  be 
attributed  to  unusually  high  spirits  and  an 
excited  and  pleased  fancy.  That  was  how  Nor- 
man Mann  translated  it,  of  course.  Really,  the 
flutter  was  a  genuine  stirring  of  her  heart  with 
inquietude,  timidity  and  semi-repentance  ;  but 
Mae  couldn't  say  this,  and  it's  only  what  one 
says  out  that  can  be  reckoned  on  in  this 
world.  So  Norman  Mann,  who  saw  only  the 
bright  cheeks  and  eyes  and  restless  quickening 
of  an  eager  girl  and  did  not  see  the  palpitating 
feminine  heart  inside,  was  displeased  and  half- 
cold. 

Could  any  one  be  long  cold  to  Mae  Madden  ? 
She  believed  not.  She  was  quite  accustomed 
to  lightning-like  white  heats  of  anger  in  those 
with  whom  she  came  in  contact,  but  coldness 
was  out  of  her  line.  Still  she  met  the  occasion 
well.  "  Shall  I  give  you  some  coffee?"  she 
asked,  pleasantly.  "  We  breakfast  all  alone, 


MAE  MADDEN  55 

until  Eric  appears.  Mrs.  Jerrold  is  not  well, 
and  Edith  and  Albert  are  off  for  Frascati." 

"  Poor  child;  how  much  alone  she  is,"  he 
thought  to  himself. 

"  I  understand  we  all  go  to  the  play  to- 
night?" queried  Mae. 

"  The  thought  of  Shakspeare  dressed  in 
Italian  is  not  pleasant  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Mann, 
after  a  silence  of  a  few  minutes. 

"  I  am  quite  longing  to  see  him  in  his  new 
clothes.  There  is  so  much  softness  and  beauty 
in  Italian  that  I  expect  to  gain  new  ideas  from 
hearing  the  play  robed  in  more  flowing  phras- 
es. Shakspeare  certainly  is  for  all  the  world." 

"  But  Shakspeare's  words  are  so  strongly 
chosen  that  they  are  a  great  element  in  his 
great  plays.  And  a  translation  at  best  is  some- 
thing of  a  parody,  especially  a  translation  from 
a  northern  tongue,  with  its  force  and  back- 
bone, so  to  speak,  into  a  southern,  serpentine, 
gliding  language.  You  have  heard  the  absurd 
rendering  of  that  passage  from  Macbeth  where 
the  witches  salute  him  with  '  Hail  to  thee, 
Macbeth!  Hail  to  thee,  Thane  of  Cawdor! '  into 
such  French  as  ''Comment  vous  portez  vous, 
Monsieur  Macbeth;  comment  vous  portez  vous, 
Monsieur  Thane  de  Cawdor!'  A  translation 


56  MAE  MADDEN. 

must  pass  through  the  medium  of  another 
mind,  and  other  minds  like  Shakspeare's  are 
hard  to  find." 

Norman  spoke  with  so  much  reverence  for 
Mae's  greatest  idol  that  her  heart  warmed  and 
she  smiled  approval,  though  for  argument's 
sake  she  remained  on  the  other  side. 

u  Isn't  a  translation  more  like  an  engraver's 
art,  and  aren't  fine  engravings  to  be  sought  and 
admired  even  when  we  know  the  great  original 
in  its  glory  of  color?  Then  all  writing  is  only 
translation,  not  copying.  Shakspeare  had  to 
translate  the  tongues  he  found  in  stones,  the 
books  he  found  in  brooks,  with  twenty-six 
little  characters  and  his  great  mind,  into  what 
we  all  study,  and  love,  and  strive  after.  But 
he  had  to  use  these  twenty-six  characters  in 
certain  hard,  Anglo-Saxon  forms  and  confine 
himself  to  them.  When  he  wanted  to  talk  about 

u  fen-sucked  fogs," 

and  such  damp,  shivery  places,  he  is  all  right, 
but  when  he  sings  of  4  love's  light  wings,'  and 
all  that  nonsense,  he  is  impeded  ;  now  open  to 
him  '  Italian,  the  language  of  angels  ' — you 
know  the  old  rhyme — and  see  what  a  chance 
he  has  among  the  u  liquid  1's  and  bell-voiced 
m's  and  crushed  tz's."  To-night  you  will  hear 


MAE  MADDEN.  57 

Desdemona  call  Othello  '  II  mio  marito,1  in  a 
way  that  will  start  the  tears.  What  are  the  stiff 
English  words  to  that  ?  '  My  husband  ! '  Hus- 
band is  a  very  uneuphonious  name,  I  think.11 

Norman  Mann  smiled.  "Another  cup  of 
coffee,  if  you  please — not  quite  as  sweet  as  the 
last,11  and  he  passed  his  cup.  ;i  I  believe  there 
is  always  a  charm  in  a  novel  word  that  has  not 
been  commonized  by  the  crowd.  '  Dear ' 
means  very  little  to  us  nowadays,  because 
every  school  girl  is  every  other  school  girl's 
1  dear,1  and  elderly  ladies  '  my  dear  ^  the 
world  at  large,  in  a  pretty  and  benevolent  way. 
So  with  the  words  'husband1  and  'wife1;  we  hear 
them  every  day  in  commonest  speech — '  the 
coachman  and  his  wife,1  or  '  Sally  Jones's  hus- 
band,'—but  I  take  it  this  is  when  we  stand 
outside.  That  wonderful  little  possessive  pro- 
noun my  has  a  great,  thrilling  power.  l  My 
husband1  will  be  as  fine  to  your  ears  as  lil 
mio  marito,1  which  has,  after  all,  a  slippery,  un- 
certain sound  ;  and  as  for  l  my  wife  ?- 

At  that  moment  the  coffee  cup,  which  was 
on  its  way  back,  had  reached  the  middle  of  the 
table,  where  by  right  it  should  have  been  met 
and  guided  by  the  steadier,  masculine  hand  ; 
Norman's  hand  was  there  in  readiness,  but  in- 


58  MAE  MADDEN. 

stead  of  gently  removing  the  cup  from  Mae's 
clasp,  it  folded  itself  involuntarily  about  the 
white,  round  wrist,  as  he  paused  on  these  last 
words.  Was  it  the  little  possessive  pronoun 
that  sent  the  sudden  thrill  through  the  unex- 
pecting  wrist?  At  any  rate  it  trembled  ;  the 
cup,  the  saucer,  the  coffee,  the  spoon,  followed 
a  well  known  precedent,  and  "  went  to  pieces 
all  at  once;"  "  all  at  once  and  nothing  first  just 
as  bubbles  do  when  they  burst."  And  so  alas  ! 
did  the  conversation,  and  that  burst  a  beautiful 
bubble  Norman  had  just  blown. 

Damages  were  barely  repaired  when  Eric  en- 
tered the  breakfast  room  with  a  petulant  sort 
of  face  and  flung  himself  into  a  chair.  uMy! 
what  a  head  I  have  on  me  this  morning,"  he 
groaned.  "  Soda  water  would  be  worth  all  the 
coffee  in  the  world,  Mae  ;  I'll  take  it  black, 
if  you  please.  How  cosy  you  two  look. 
I  always  take  too  much  of  every  thing 
at  a  party,  from  flirtation  to —  0,  Mae, 
you  needn't  look  so  sad.  I'm  not  the  one  in 
disgrace  now.  Mrs.  Jerrold,  Edith  and  Albert 
are  just  piping  mad  at  you,  and  as  for  Mann, 
here, — by  the  way,"  and  Eric  rubbed  his  fore- 
head, as  if  trying  to  sharpen  up  a  still  sleepy 
memory,  "  I  suppose  you  two  have  had  it  out 


MAE  MADDEN.  59 

by  .this  time.  Norman  sat  up  till  ever  so  late 
to  talk  you  over  with  me,  Mae.  Do  thank 
him  lor  me  ;  I  am  under  the  impression  that  I 
didn't  do  so  last  night." 

Mae  tapped  her  fourth  finger,  on  which  a  small 
ring  glistened,  sharply  against  the  cream  jug. 
"  If  I  were  every  body's  pet  lamb  or  black 
sheep,  I  couldn't  have  more  shepherd's  crooks 
about  me.  Have  you  joined  the  laudable  band, 
Mr.  Mann,  and  am  I  requested  to  thank  you 
for  that?" 

"  Not  at  all.  Perhaps  your  Brother's  remem- 
brances of  last  night  are  not  very  distinct.  I 
certainly  sat  up  for  Sismondi's  sake,  not  for 
yours."  And  he  really  thought,  for  the  mo- 
ment, that  he  told  the  truth. 

u  I  warn  you,"  continued  Mae,  rising  as  she 
spoke,  u  that  I  have  a  tremendous  retinue  of 
mentors,  and  nurses,  and  governesses  already. 
You  had  better  content  yourself  with  the  fact 
that  you  have  four  proper  traveling  compan- 
ions, and  bear  the  disgrace  of  being  shocked 
as  best  you  may  by  one  wild  scrap  of  feminin- 
ity who  will  have  her  own  way  in  spite  of  you 
all."  Mae  half  laughed,  but  she  was  serious, 
and  the  boys  both  knew  it. 

"  You  flatter  me,"  replied  Norman.  "  I  had 
4 


60  MAE  MADDEN. 

aspired  to  no  such  position,  but  for  your  broth- 
er's sake,  if  not  for  your  own,  I  wished  to  tell 
Eric  that  the  Roman  air  at  midnight  was  dan- 
gerous to  your  health.  I  saw  you  had  your 
window  open." 

"  Did  you  look  through  the  ceiling,  pray?  " 
Mae  retorted  from  the  door-way.  "  Eric,  ring  if 
you  want  anything.  Rosetta  is  close  at  hand." 

"  I  have  put  my  foot  in  it  this  time,"  said 
Eric,  clumsily.  "  I  am  real  sorry,  Norman,  old 
boy." 

Norman  did  not  feel  like  being  pitied,  and  this 
remark  of  Eric's  roused  him.  He  fairly  ground 
his  teeth  and  clenched  his  hands,  but  his  big 
brown  moustache  and  the  tablecloth  hid  these 
outer  manifestations  of  anger.  u  Don't  be  a 
goose,  Ric,"  he  said.  "  What  possible  difference 
can  all  this  make  to  me?  Your  sister  is  young 
and  quick." 

Now,  it  was  Eric's  turn  to  wince.  Was  he 
giving  this  fellow  the  impression  that  he 
thought  his  sister's  opinions  would  affect 
him?  Horrible  suspicion  !  Boys  always  fan- 
cy everybody  in  love  with  their  sister.  He 
must  cure  that  at  once.  "  Of  course,"  hs 
replied  quickly,  u  I  know  vou  and  Mae  never 
agree,  that  you  barely  stand  each  other.  But 


MAE  MADDEN.  61 

I  didn't  know  but  you  would  prefer  to  be  on 
good  terms  with  her,  for  all  that." 

u  Miss  Mae  can  choose  the  terms  on  which 
we  meet.  I  shall  be  content  whatever  her  de- 
cision. What  are  your  plans  for  the  day?  " 

Lounging  Eric  straightened  himself  at  once. 
"  I  was  a  perfect  fool  last  night,"  he  confessed, 
"  and  I  must  rely  on  you,  old  fellow,  to  help 
me  out.  I  made  engagements  for  two  weeks 
ahead  with  Miss  Hopkins  and  Miss  Rae.  At 
any  rate,  I'm  booked  for  the  play  to-night. 
Now,  I  can't  take  two  girls  very  well.  That 
is,  I  can,  but  I  thought  you  might  like  a  show. 
You  may  have  your  choice  of  the  two.  Miss 
Rae,  by  the  way,  says  she's  wild  to  know  you  ; 
thought  you  were  the  most  provoking  man  she 
ever  saw;  and  that  you  were — nonsensical  idea 
— engaged  to  Mae.  All  because  you  wouldn't 
look  at  her  the  other  day  when  she  passed  you 
two.  But  you  can  go  with  Miss  Hopkins,  if 
you  prefer." 

"Are  they  pretty?"  asked  Norman,  appar- 
ently warming  to  the  task,  "  and  bright?  " 

"  I  should  say  they  were.  Miss  Hopkins  has 
gorgeous  great  eyes, — but  Miss  Rae  is  more 
your  style.  Still,  you  may  have  your  choice." 

"Silly  boy;    you're   afraid  to  death  that   I 


62  MAE  MADDEN. 

shall  choose  Miss  Hopkins.  Well,  if  they  are 
not  over  stupid  and  flirtatious — " 

u  Stupid  !  Oh,  no,1' — Eric  scouted  that  idea — 
"  and  flirtatious,  perhaps.  Miss  Hopkins  rolls 
her  eyes  a  good  deal,  but  then  she  has  a  frank- 
ness, a  winning  way." 

"Well,"  laughed  Norman,  "you're  such  a 
transparent,  susceptible  infant-in-arms  that  Til 
go  with  you." 

u  As  shepherd,"  suggested  Eric,  u  as  long  as 
Mae  won't  have  you.  But  conie,  we  must  go 
down  and  call  on  these  people.  It  won't  do  at 
all  for  you  to  appear  suddenly  this  evening,  and 
say,  l  I'll  relieve  my  friend  here  of  one  of 
you.'  " 

"  Oh,  what  a  bore.  Is  that  necessary?  Won't 
a  card  or  a  box  of  Still  man's  bon-bons  do  them  ? 
Well,  if  it  must  be,  come  along,  then." 


CHAPTER    V. 

T  was  evening,  and  the  brilliantly 
lighted  theatre  was  crowded  to  over- 
flowing. Of  course  there  were  En- 
glish who  scowled  at  the  Americans, 
and  Americans  who  smiled  on  every  one  and 
ate  candy  while  Othello  writhed  in  jealous  rage, 
and  a  scattering  of  Germans  with  spectacles 
and  a  row  of  double-barrelled  field  glasses 
glued  over  them,  and  Frenchmen  with  impu- 
dent eyes  arid  elegant  gloves,  and  a  general 
filling  in  of  Italians,  with  the  glitter  here  and 
there  of  nobility,  and  still  oftener  of  bright 
uniforms.  Finally  there  was  a  modicum  of 
true  gentry,  and  these  not  of  any  particular 
nation  or  class.  It  is  pleasant  to  name  our 
party  immediately  after  referring  to  these 
goodly  folks.  They  had  a  fine  box,  and  al- 
though their  ranks  were  thinned  by  the  loss 
of  two  cavaliers,  nobody  seemed  to  care.  Al- 
bert and  Edith  were  perfectly  happy  side  by 
side,  and  Mrs.  Jerrold  was  well  contented  to 
observe  her  daughter's  smile  as  Albert  spoke  to 
her,  and  the  look  of  manly  protection  in  his 
eyes,  as  his  gaze  met  Edith's. 


64  MAE  MADDEN. 

As  for  Mae,  she  had  that  delicious  feminine 
pride  which  is  as  good  a  stimulant  as  success  to 
women — in  emergencies.  And  to-night  was 
an  emergency  to  this  small,  excitable,  young 
thing.  Her  eyes  were  very  dark  from  the 
expansion  of  the  pupil.  They  possessed  a  rare 
charm,  caught  from  a  trick  the  eyelids  had  of 
drooping  slowly  and  then  suddenly  and  unex- 
pectedly lifting  to  reveal  the  wide,  bright 
depths,  that  half-concealed,  half-revealed  power, 
which  is  so  tantalizing.  Mae  was  dressed 
in  this  same  spirit  to-night,  and  she  was 
dimly  conscious  of  it.  The  masses  of  tulle 
that  floated  from  her  opera  hat  to  her 
chin  and  down  on  her  shoulders,  revealed  only 
here  and  there  a  glimpse  of  rich  brown  hair,  or 
of  white  throat.  Her  cheeks  were  scarlet,  her 
lips  a-quiver  with  excitement  and  pleasure. 
She  formed  a  pretty  contrast  to  Edith,  who  sat 
by  her  side.  Miss  Jerrold  leaned  back  in  her 
chair  quietly,  composedly.  She  fanned  herself 
in  long  sweeps,  looked  pleased,  contented,  but 
in  no  wise  displaced  or  surprised — thoroughly 
well-bred  and  at  home.  She  might  have  had  a 
private  rehearsal  of  Othello  in  her  own  dra- 
matic hall  the  evening  before,  from  her  air  and 
mien.  Mae,  on  the  contrary,  was  alert,  on  the 


MAE  MADDEN.  65 

qui  vive,  as  interested  as  a  child  in  each  new- 
comer, and,  after  the  curtain  rose,  in  every 
tableau. 

Such  a  woman  can  not  fail  to  attract  atten- 
tion, as  long  as  she  is  herself  unconscious. 
The  world  grows  blase  so  speedily  that  it 
enjoys  all  the  more  thoroughly  the  sight  of 
freshness,  verve,  life, — that  is,  the  male  portion 
of  the  world.  Women's  great  desire,  as  a  rule, 
is  to  appear  entirely  at  ease,  city-bred,  high- 
bred, used  to  all  things,  surprised  by  none. 

So  there*  were  a  great  many  glasses  turned 
toward  Mae  that  evening.  Very  probably  the 
young  women  in  the  next  box  accepted  a  share 
of  these  glances  as  their  own,  and,  in  a  crowd 
where  the  French  and  Italian  elements  predom- 
inate, or  largely  enter,  they  could  not  have  been 
far  wrong.  Every  girl  or  woman  who  pretends 
to  any  possible  charm  is  quite  sure  of  her  share  of 
admiration  from  these  susceptible  beings. 
The  young  ladies  of  the  next  box  had 
that  indescribable  New  York  air,  which  extends 
from  the  carefully  brushed  eyebrows  quite  to 
the  curves  of  the  wrist  and  hand.  Praise  Paris- 
ian modes  all  you  will,  but  for  genuine  style, 
a  New  York  girl,  softened  a  trifle  by  common- 
sense  or  good  taste,  leads  the  world — certainly 


66  MAS  MADDEN. 

if  she  is  abroad.  For  there  she  soon  finds  it 
impossible  to  go  to  the  extremes  that  American 
air  seems  to  rush  her  into.  Three  months,  or 
perhaps,  if  she  is  observant,  three  days  in  Paris, 
teach  her  that  the  very  biggest  buttons,  or 
the  very  largest  paniers,  or  the  very  flaringest 
hats  are  not  for  her,  or  any  lady,  and  by  step- 
ping back  to  size  number  two,  she  does  not 
detract  from  her  style,  while  she  does  add  to  her 
lady-likeness. 

These  two  girls,  it  may  be  surmised,  were  no 
other  than  Miss  Hopkins  and  Miss  Rae,  whom 
chance  or  fate  or  bungling  Eric  Madden,  who 
bought  the  tickets,  had  seated  side  by  side  with 
the  Maddens  and  Jerrolds.  It  was  bothersome, 
when  Norman  and  Eric  had  played  truant  at 
any  rate,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it;  so  after  a 
little  Eric  introduced  them  all  round,  and  the 
two  parties  apparently  merged  into  one,  or 
broke  up  into  four,  for  t£te-a-tetes  soon  began. 
It  was  a  little  hard  that  three  girls  should  have 
each  a  devoted  servant,  and  that  only  one,  and 
that  one,  Mae,  should  be  obliged  to  receive  her 
care  from  the  chaperon;  but  so  it  was. 

Nevertheless,  Mae  bore  herself  proudly.  She 
was  seated  next  Miss  Rae,  separated  only  by  the 
nominal  barrier  of  a  little  railing,  while  just 


MAE  MADDEN.  67 

beyond  sat  Norman,  his  chair  turned  toward 
the  two  girls.  The  stranger  insisted  on  draw- 
ing Mae  into  the  conversation,  partly  for 
curiosity's  sake,  to  watch  her  odd  face  and  man- 
ners, partly  from  that  genuine  generosity  that 
comes  to  the  most  selfish  of  women,  when  she 
is  satisfied  with  her  position.  It  is  pleasant  to 
pity,  to  be  generous;  and  Miss  Rae,  having  the 
man,  could  afford  to  share  him  now  and  then, 
when  it  pleased  her,  with  the  lonely  girl  by  her 
side.  But  Miss  Rae's  tactics  did  not  work. 
Mae  replied  pleasantly  when  addressed,  but 
returned  speedily  and  eagerly  to  Mrs.  Jerrold 
or  a  survey  of  the  house,  with  the  frank  hap- 
piness of  a  child.  She  was  all  the  more  fasci- 
nating to  the  admiring  eyes  that  -watched  her, 
because  she  sat  alone,  electrified  by  the  in- 
spiration and  magnetism  from  within,  and  did 
not  need  the  stimulus  of  another  voice  close  by 
her  side,  breathing  compliments  and  flattery,  to 
brighten  her  eyes  and  call  the  blushes  to  her 
cheeks.  Norman  Mann  saw  the  eyes  fixed  on 
her,  and  they  vexed  him.  At  the  same  time,  he 
liked  her  the  better  on  that  very  account. 

And  at  last  the  curtain  rose. 

It  was  just  as  Desdemona  assures  her  father 
of  her  love  for  Othello,  that  Mae  became  con- 


MADDEN. 


scious  of  a  riveted  gaze  —  of  a  presence.  Lifting 
her  eyes,  and  widening  them,  she  looked  over 
to  the  opposite  side  of  the  house,  and  there,  of 
course,  was  the  Piedmontese  officer  again,  hand- 
somer, more  brilliant  than  ever,  with  a  grateful, 
soft  look  of  recognition  in  his  eyes. 

Mae  was  out  of  harmony  with  all  her  friends. 
She  was  proud  and  lonely.  The  man's  pleased, 
softened  look  touched  her  heart  strangely. 
There  was  almost  a  choke  in  her  throat,  there 
were  almost  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  there  was  a 
free,  glad,  welcoming  smile  on  her  lips. 

Norman  Mann  saw  it  and  followed  it,  and 
caught  the  officer  receiving  it,  and  thought 
"She's  a  wild  coquette." 

And  Mae  knew  what  he  saw  and  what  he 
thought. 

Then  a  strange  spirit  entered  the  girl.  Here 
was  a  man  who  vexed  her,  who  piqued  her,  and 
who  was  rude,  for  Mae  secretly  thought  it  was 
rude  to  neglect  Mrs.  Jerrold,  as  the  boys  did  that 
evening,  and  yet  who  was  vexed  and  piqued  in 
his  turn,  if  she  did  what  he  didn't  like  and 
looked  at  another  man. 

And  then  here  was  the  other  man.  Mae 
looked  down  at  him. 

Bless  us!  who  is  to  blame  a  young  woman 


MAE  MADDEN.  69 

for  forgetting  everything  but  the  "  other  man" 
when  he  is  a  godlike  Piedmontese  officer,  with 
strong  soft  cheek  and  throat,  and  Italian  eyes, 
and  yellow  moustaches,  and  spurs  and  buttons 
that  click  and  shinein  a  maddening  sort  of  way  ? 

Of  course,  in  reality,  everybody  is  to  blame 
her,  we  among  the  very  virtuous  first.  In  this 
particular  case,  however,  we  have  facts,  not  mor- 
als, to  deal  with.  Mae  did  see  Norman  Mann  talk- 
ing delightedly  to  a  pretty  girl,  and  she  did  see 
the  officer  gazing  at  her  rapturously,  and  she 
quite  forgot  Othello,  and  gave  back  look  for  look, 
only  more  shy  and  less  intense  perhaps,  and 
knew  that  Norman  Mann  was  very  angry  and 
she  and  the  officer  very  happy.  What  matter 
though  the  one  should  hate  her,  and  the  other 
love  her,  and  she — 

But,  bother  all  things  but  the  delirious 
present  moment.  Never  fear  consequences. 
There  were  bright  lights,  and  brilliant  people, 
the  hum  of  many  voices,  the  flash  of  many 
eyes,  and  a  half  secret  between  her,  this  little 
creature  up  in  the  box,  and  the  very  handsom- 
est man  of  them  all. 

So  while  Othello  fell  about  the  stage,  and 
ground  out  tremendous  curses,  Mae  half 
shivered  and  glanced  tremblingly  toward  Bero, 


70  MAE  MADDEN. 

and  Bero  gazed  back  protectingly  and  grandly. 
Once,  when  Desdemona  cried  out  thrillingly, 
"  Othello,  il  mio  marito,"  Mae  looked  at  Norman 
involuntarily  and  caught  a  half  flash  of  his 
eye,  but  he  turned  back  quickly  to  his  compan- 
ion and  Mae's  glance  wandered  on  to  Bero  and 
rested  there  as  the  wild  voice  cried  out  again, 
"  il  mio  marito,  il  mio  marito." 

So  the  evening  slid  on.  Mae  smiled  and 
smiled  and  opened  and  half  closed  her  eyes, 
and  Norman  invited  Miss  Rae  to  go  to  church 
with  him,  and  to  drive  with  him,  and  to  walk 
with  him,  and  to  go  to  the  galleries  with  him, 
u  until,  Susie  Hopkins,  if  you  will  believe  it,  I 
fairly  thought  he  would  drop  on  his  knees  and 
ask  me  to  go  through  life  with  him,  right  then 
and  there."  So  Miss  Rae  confided  to  Susie  Hop- 
kins after  the  victorious  night,  in  the  silence 
of  a  fourth-story  Costanzi  bedroom. 

Susie  Hopkins  was  putting  her  hair  up  on 
crimping-pins,  but  she  paused  long  enough  to 
say:  "  Well,  Jack  Durkee  had  better  hurry 
himself  and  his  ring  along,  then." 

u  0,  he's  coming  as  quickly  as  ever  he  can," 
laughed  Miss  Rae,whereat  she  proceeded  to  place 
a  large  letter  and  a  picture  under  the  left-hand 
pillow,  crimped  her  hair,  cold-creamed  her  lips, 
and  laid  her  down  to  pleasant  dreams  of — Jack. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AE  was  very  much  ashamed  of  herself 
the  next  morning.  She  had  been  re- 
stored in  a  measure  to  popular  favor, 
through  Eric,  the  day  before.  Edith 
and  Albert  were  home  from  Frascati,  when  Eric 
made  his  raid  bravely  on  their  forces  combined 
with  those  of  Mrs.  Jerrold.  He  advanced  boldly. 
"  It's  all  nonsense,  child,  as  she  is,"  he  said. 
"  It  was  natural  enough,  to  talk  with  the  man," 
for  Mae  had  made  a  clean  breast  of  her  misdo- 
ings to  him,  to  the  extent  of  saying  that  they 
had  chatted  after  the  beggar  left.  u  Do  forgive 
her,  poor  little  proud  tot,  away  across  the  sea 
from  her  mother.  Albert,  you're  as  hard  as  a 
rock,  and  that  Edith  has  no  spirit  in  her,"  he 
added,  under  his  breath.  This  remark  made  Al- 
bert white  with  rage.  Nevertheless,  he  put  in  a 
plea  for  his  wayward,  reckless  little  sister,  with 
effect.  After  a  few  more  remarks  from  Mrs. 
Jerrold,  Mae  came  out  of  the  ordeal;  was  treated 
naturally,  and,  as  we  have  seen,  accompanied 
Mrs.  Jerrold  to  the  play  the  night  before. 
Now,  it  was  the  next  day.  Mrs.  Jerrold 


72  MAE  MADDEN. 

breakfasted  in  her  own  room  again,  and  spent 
the  hours  in  writing  home  letters  full  of  the 
Peter  and  Paul  reminiscences  and  quotations. 
Norman  and  Eric  left  for  the  Costanzi,  and 
Albert  and  Edith,  armed  with  books,  and 
note-books,  and  the  small  camp-stools,  again 
started  away  together.  This  last  l  again  '  was 
getting  to  be  accepted  quite  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Everybody  knew  what  it  meant.  They  always 
invited  the  rest  of  the  company  to  go  with 
them,  and  were  especially  urgent,  this  morn- 
ing, that  Mae  should  accompany  them. 

"Why,  with  mamma  in  her  room  you  will 
be  lonely,"  suggested  Edith,  "  and  you  can't  go 
out  by  yourself." 

Mae  winced  inwardly  at  this,  but  replied 
pleasantly:  "I  have  letters  to  write  also,  and 
I'm  not  in  the  mood  to-day  for  pictures,  and 
the  cold,  chilling  galleries  filled  with  the  damp 
breath  of  the  ages." 

So  Edith  and  Albert,  nothing  loth,  having 
discharged  their  duty,  started  off.  These  two 
have  as  yet  appeared  only  in  the  background, 
and  may  have  assumed  a  half-priggish  air  in  op- 
position and  contrast  to  Mae.  They  really,  how- 
ever, were  very  interesting  young  people.  Albert 
with  a  strong  desire  in  his  heart — or  was  it  in  his 


MAE  MADDEN.  73 

head? — to  aid  the  world,  and  Edith  with  a  clear 
self-possessidn  and  New  England  shrewdness 
that  helped  and  pleased  him.  Their  travels 
were  enriching  them  both.  Edith  was  trying 
to  draw  the  soul  from  all  the  great  pictures 
and  some  of  the  lesser  ones,  and  Albert  was 
waking,  through  her  influence,  to  the  world  of 
art.  This  morning  they  were  on  their  way  to 
the  Transfiguration  to  study  the  scornful  sis- 
ter. They  were  taking  the  picture  bit  by  bit, 
color  by  color,  face  by  face.  There  are  advan- 
tages in  this  analytical  study,  yet  there  is  a 
chance  of  losing  the  spirit  of  the  whole.  So 
Mae  thought  and  said:  "I  know  that  sister 
now,  Edith,  better  than  you  ever  will."  This 
was  while  she  was  looping  up  her  friend's 
dress  here,  and  pulling  out  a  fold  there,  in  that 
destructive  way  girls  have  of  beautifying  each 
other.  uSee  here!" 

And  down  sank  Miss  Mae  on  her  knees,  with 
her  lips  curved,  and  her  hands  stretched  out 
imploringly,  half-mockingly.  No  need  of  words 
to  say:  u  Save  my  brother,  behold  him.  Ah, 
you  cannot  do  it,  your  power  is  boast.  Yet, 
save  him,  pray." 

u  A  little  more  yellow  in  my  hair,  some  pearls 
and  a  pink  gown,  and  you  might  have  the  sis- 


74  MAE  MADDEN. 

ter  to  study  in  a  living  model,  Edith,"  laughed 
Mae,  arising. 

Edith  and  Albert  were  both  struck  by  Mae's 
dramatic  force,  and  they  talked  of  her  as  they 
drove  to  the  Vatican.  u  I  wish  I  understood 
her  better,"  said  Edith.  "  I  cannot  feel  as  if 
travel  were  doing  her  good.  She  is  changing 
so  ;  she  was  always  odd,  but  then  she  was 
always  happy.  Now  she  has  her  moods,  and 
there  is  a  look  in  her  eye  I  am  afraid  of.  It  is 
almost  savage.  You  would  think  the  beauty 
in  Rome  would  delight  her  nature,  for  she 
craves  beauty  and  poetry  in  everything.  I  don't 
believe  the  theatre  is  good  for  her.  Albert, 
suppose  we  give  up  our  tickets  for  Thursday 
night." 

u  But  you  want  particularly  to  see  that  play, 
Edith." 

"  I  can  easily  give  it  up  for  Mae's  sake.  It 
would  be  cruel  to  go  without  her,  and  I  think 
excitement  is  bad  for  her." 

uYou  are  very  generous,  Edith,  and  right, 
too,  I  dare  say.  I  wish  my  little  sister  could 
see  pleasure  and  duty  through  your  steadier, 
clearer  eyes." 

Then  the  steady,  clear  eyes  dropped  suddenly, 
and  the  two  forgot  all  about  Mae,  and  rolled 


MAE  MADDEN.  75 

contentedly  off,  behind  the  limping  Italian 
horse.  And  the  red-cheeked  vetturino  with  the 
flower  in  his  button-hole,  whistled  a  love-song, 
and  thought  of  his  Piametta,  I  suppose. 

Meantime,  Mae,  left  to  herself,  grew  penitent 
and  reckless  by  turns,  blushed  alternately  with 
shame  and  with  quick  pulse-beats,  as  she  re- 
membered Norman  Mann's  face,  or  the  officer's 
smile.  She  wondered  where  he  lived,  and 
whether  she  would  see  him  soon  again.  Poor 
child !  She  was  really  innocent,  and  only  dimly 
surmised  how  he  would  haunt  her  hereafter. 
Would  he  look  well  in  citizen's  clothes?  How- 
would  Norman  Mann  seem  in  his  uniform  ?  She 
wished  she  had  a  jacket  cut  like  his.  And  so  on 
in  an  indolent  way.  But  penitence  was  getting 
the  better  of  her,  and  after  vainly  trying  to  read 
or  write,  she  settled  herself  down  for  a  cry.  To 
think  that  she,  Mae  Madden,  could  have  acted  so 
absurdly.  She  never  would  forgive  herself,  never. 
Then  she  cried  some  more,  a  good  deal  more. 

About  four  in  the  afternoon  a  very  bright 
sunbeam  peeped  through  her  closed  blinds,  and 
she  brushed  away  her  tears,  and  peace  came 
back  to  her  small  heart,  and  she  felt  like  a  New 
England  valley  after  a  shower,  very  fresh  and 
5 


76  MAE  MADDEN. 

clean,  and  goodly, — justja  trifle  subdued,  how- 
ever. 

She  would  go  to  church.  She  had  heard  that 
there  was  lovely  music  at  vespers,  in  the  little 
church  at  the  foot  of  Capo  le  Case.  St.  Andrea 
delle  Frate,  was  it?  It  wasn't  very  far  away. 
She  could  say  her  prayers  and  repent  en- 
tirely and  wholly.  So  she  dressed  rapidly,  sing- 
ing the  familiar  old  Te  Deum  joyously  all  the 
while^  and  off  she  started. 

The  air  was  cool  and  clear  and  delicious  and 
the  street-scenes  were  pretty.  Mae  took  in 
everything  before  her  as  she  left  the  house,  from 
the  Barberini  fountain  to  the  groups  of  models 
at  the  corner  of  the  Square  and  the  Via  Felice ; 
but  she  did  not  see,  at  some  distance  behind 
her,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  the  sud- 
den start  of  a  motionless  figure  as  she  left  the 
house,  or  know  that  it  straightened  itself  and 
moved  along  as  she  did,  kirning  on  to  the  pretty 
Via  Sistina,  so  down  the  hill  at  Capo  le  Case,  to 
the  church  below. 

She  was  early  for  vespers,  arid  there  was  only 
the  music  singing  in  her  own  happy  little  heart 
as  she  entered  the  quiet  place.  The  contrast 
between  the  spot,  with  its  shrines  and  symbols 
and  aids  to  faith,  and  all  that  she  had  asso- 


MAE  MADDEN.  77 

ciated  with  religion,  conspired  to  separate  her 
from  herself  and  her  past,  and  left  her  a  bit  of 
breathing,  worshiping  life,  praising  the  great 
Giver  of  Life.  She  fell  on  her  knees  in  an  ex- 
alted, jubilate  spirit.  She  was  more  like  a 
Praise-the-Lord  psalm  of  David  than  like  a 
young  girl  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

And  yet  close  behind  her,  a  little  to  the  left, 
was  Bero  on  his  knees  too,  at  his  pater  nosters. 

By  and  by  the  music  began.  It  was  music 
beyond  description ;  those  wonderful  male  voices, 
the  chorus  of  young  boys,  and  then  suddenly, 
the  organ  and  some  one  wild  falsetto  carrying 
the  great  Latin  soul-laden  words  up  higher. 

All  this  while  Mae's  head  was  bent  low  and 
her  heart  was  a-praying. 

All  this  while  Bero  was  on  his  knees  also,  but 
his  eyes  were  on  Mae. 

The  music  ceased;  the  prayers  were  ended. 
Mae  heard  indistinctly  the  sweep  of  trailing 
skirts,  the  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  marble 
floor,  the  noise  of  voices  as  the  people  went 
away,  but  still  she  did  not  move.  The  selah 
pause  had  come  after  the  psalm. 

When  she  did  rise,  and  turn,  and  start  to  go, 
her  eyes  fell  on  the  kneeling  form.  She  tried 
to  pass  quickly  without  recognition,  but  he 
reached  out  his  hand. 


78  MAE  MADDEN. 

"  This  is  a  church,"  said  Mae  ;  u  my  prayers 
are  sacred;  do  not  disturb  me." 

He  held  his  rosary  toward  her,  with  the  cross 
at  the  end  tightly  clasped  in  his  hand.  u  My 
prayers  are  here,  too,1'  he  said.  u  Oh,  Signor- 
ina,  give  me  one  little  prayer,  one  of  your  little 
prayers." 

He  knelt  before  her  in  the  quiet,  dim,  half 
light,  his  hands  clasped,  and  an  intense  earn- 
estness in  his  easily  moved  Italian  soul,  that 
floated  up  to  his  face.  It  looked  like  beautiful 
penitence  and  faith  to  Mae.  Here  was  a  soul  in 
sympathy  with  hers,  one  which  met  her  harmo- 
niously in  every  mood,  slid  into  her  dreams  and 
wild  wishes,  sparkled  with  her  enjoyment, 
and  now  knelt  as  she  knelt,  and  asked  for 
one  of  her  prayers. 

She  stood  a  minute  irresolute.  Then  she 
smiled  down  on  him  a  full,  rich  smile,  and 
said  in  English  :  "  God  bless  you."  The  next 
moment  she  was  gone. 

Bero  made  no  movement  to  follow  her,  but 
remained  quietly  on  his  knees,  his  head  bowed 
low. 

^c  *  *  #  *  #  * 

u  I  looked  in  at  St.  Andrea's,  at  vespers,"  said 
that  dear,  bungling  fellow,  Eric,  at  dinner  that 


MAE  MADDEN.  79 

night,  "  and  saw  you  Mae,  but  you  were  so 
busy  with  your  prayers  I  came  away/'  There 
was  a  pause,  and  Mae  knew  that  people  looked 
at  her. 

"  Yes,  I  was  there  ;  the  music  was  wonder- 
ful." 

"  Mae,"  asked  Mrs.  Jerrold,  u  Do  you  have 
to  go  to  a  Roman  Catholic  Church  to  say  your 
prayers  ?"  For  Mrs.  Jerrold  was  a  Puritan  of  the 
Puritans,  and  had  breathed  in  the  shorter  cate- 
chism and  the  doctrine  of  election  with  the 
mountain  air  and  sea-salt  of  her  childhood. 
Possibly  the  two  former  had  had  as  much  to  do 
as  the  latter  with  her  angularity  and  severe 
strength. 

"  Indeed,"  cried  Mae,  impulsively,  "  I  wish  I 
could  always  enter  a  church  to  say  my  prayers. 
There  is  so  much  to  help  one  there." 

"  Is  there  any  danger  of  your  becoming  a 
Romanist  ? "  enquired  Mrs.  Jerrold,  pushing 
the  matter  further. 

u  I  wish  there  were  a  chance  of  my  becom- 
ing anything  half  as  good,  but  I  am  afraid 
there  isn't.  Still,  I  turn  with  an  occasional 
loyal  heart-beat  to  the  great  Mother  Church, 
that  the  rest  of  you  have  all  run  away  from." 
"  Yes,  you  have,"  Mae  shook  her  head  decidedly 


80  MAE  MADDEN. 

at  Edith.  u  She  may  be  a  cruel  mother.  I 
know  you  all  think  she's  like  the  old  woman 
who  lived  in  a  shoe,  and  that  she  whips  her 
children  and  sends  them  supperless  to  bed,  and 
gives  them  a  stone  for  bread,  but  she's  the  mo- 
ther of  all  of  us,  notwithstanding." 

"  What  a  dreadful  mixture  of  Mother  Goose 
and  Holy  Bible,"  exclaimed  Eric,  laughingly, 
while  Mae  cooled  oft,  and  Mrs.  Jerrold  stared 
amazedly,  wondering  how  to  take  this  tirade.  She 
concluded  at  last  that  it  would  be  better  to  let 
it  pass  as  one  of  Mae's  extravagances,  so  she 
ended  the  conversation  by  saying:  "I  hope, 
Eric,  you  will  wait  for  your  sister,  if  you  see 
her  alone,  at  church.  It  is  not  the  thing  for 
her  to  go  by  herself." 

u  No,"  added  Albert,  "  we  shall  have  to  buy 
a  chain  for  you  soon." 

"  If  you  do,"  said  Mae  quietly,  "  I'll  slip  it." 
And  not  another  prayer  did  she  say  that  night. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

T  was, the  first  day  of  Carnival.  The 
determination  to  enjoy  herself  was 
so  strong  in  Mae,  that  her  face  fairly 
shone  with  her  u  good  time  coming." 
She  popped  her  head  out  of  the  doorway,  and 
flung  a  big  handful  of  confetti  right  at  Eric, 
but  he  dodged,  and  Norman  Mann  caught  it  in 
his  face.  Then,  seeing  a  try-to-be-dignified  look 
creeping  upon  Mae,  he  seized  the  golden 
moment,  gathered  up  such  remnants  of  confetti 
as  were  tangled  in  his  hair  and  whiskers,  and 
flung  them  back  again,  shouting:  uLong  live 
King  Pasquino  !  So  his  reign  has  begun, 
has  it?'1 

a  Yes;  King  Pasquino  is  lord,  now,  for  ten 
whole  days,"  and  she  slowly  edged  her  right 
hand  about,  to  take  aim  again  at  Nor- 
man. He  saw  her,  and  frustrated  the  attempt 
by  catching  it  and  emptying  the  contents,  out 
npon  the  floor.  The  little  white  balls  rolled  off 
to  the  corners  and  the  little  hand  fell  slowly 
by  Mae's  side.  "  Why  not  go  down  to  the 
Corso,  you  and  I,  and  see  the  beginning  of  the 
fun?"  suggested  Norman. 


82  MAR  MADDEN. 

"  Come  along,"  cried  Mae,  ;t  you,  too,  Eric," 
and  the  three  started  off  like  veritable  children, 
in  a  delightful,  familiar,  old-time  way.  Arrived 
at  their  loggia,  they  found  an  old  woman  em- 
ployed in  filling,  with  confetti,  a  long  line  of 
boxes,  fastened  to  the  balustrade  of  the  balcony. 
Little  shovels,  also,  were  provided,  for  dealing 
out  the  tiny  missals  of  war  upon  the  heads  be- 
low. There  were  masks  in  waiting,  some  to  be 
tied  on,  while  others  terminated  in  a  handle, 
by  a  skilful  use  of  which  they  could  be  made  as 
effective  as  a  Spanish  lady's  fan.  Mae  chose 
one  of  these  latter. 

The  Corso  was  alive  with  vendors  of  small 
bouquets  and  bon-bons  and  little  flying  birds 
tied  in  live  agony  to  round  yellow  oranges. 
The  fruit  in  turn  was  fastened  to  a  long  pole 
and  so  thrust  up  to  the  balconies  as  a  tempting 
bait.  If  bought,  the  birds  and  flowers  were 
tossed  together  into  the  streets  to  a  passing 
friend.  As  Mae  was  gazing  rapturously  over 
the  balcony,  laughing  at  the  few  stragglers 
hurrying  to  the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  admiring  the 
bannered  balconies  and  gay  streamers,  several 
of  these  little  birds  were  thrust  up  to  her  face, 
some  of  them  peeping  piteously  and  flapping 
their  poor  wings.  She  put  up  her  hands  and 


MAE  MADDEN.  83 

caught  the  oranges,  one — two — three — four. 
In  a  moment  she  had  freed  the  fluttering  birds 
and  tossed  the  fruit  back  into  the  street.  u  Pay 
them,  Eric,"  she  cried  indignantly;  "Why, 
what  is  this?"  for  one  of  the  little  creatures, 
after  vainly  flapping  its  wings,  had  fallen 
on  the  balcony.  Alae  picked  it  up.  It  half 
opened  its  eyes  at  her  and  then  lay  still  in  her 
hands. 

"  It  is  dead,"  said  Mae,  quietly,  going  up  to 
Norman.  "  Oh!  Mr.  Mann,  I  thought  Carnival 
meant  real  fun,  not  cruelty.  Isn't  there  any- 
where in  this  big  world  where  we  can  get  free 
from  such  dreadful  things?  Well!"  she  added, 
impatiently,  as  Norman  paused. 

"  Give  a  slow  fellow  who  likes  the  world  bet- 
ter than  you  do,  time  to  apologize  for  it,"  re- 
plied Norman,  as  familiarly  as  Eric  would  have 
done.  The  tone  pleased  Mae.  She  looked  up 
and  laughed  lightly.  "  At  any  rate,"  suggested 
he,  "  let's  forget  the  cruelty  now  and  take 
the  fun.  Three  of  them  are  safe  and 
very  likely  this  scrap,"  and  he  touched  the 
dead  bird  in  her  hand,  "is  flying  to  rejoin  his 
brothers  in  hunting-grounds  that  are  stocked 
with  angle-worms,  and  such  game.  We  are  to 
have  a  good  time  to-day,  you  and  I." 


84  MAE  MADDEN. 

At  this  moment  Eric  rushed  up.  a  Say, 
Mann,"  he  cried;  "  here  they  come.  They  have 
taken  the  balcony  just  opposite,  after  all.  And 
Miss  Hopkins  looks  perfectly  in  a  white  veil. 
And  oh !  here  are  the  rest  of  our  own  party." 

Mae  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  opposite  side  of 
the  street,  but  they  did  not  fall  to  the  level  of 
the  Hopkins-Rae  party,  being  stopped  by 
something  above.  At  a  high,  fourth-story 
window,  beyond  the  circle  of  flying  fun  and 
frolic,  confetti  and  flowers,  Mae  saw  a  wonder- 
ful woman's  face,  a  face  with  great  dark  eyes  and 
raven  hair.  A  heavily-figured  white  lace  veil 
was  pulled  low  over  her  brow,  and  fell  in  folds 
against  her  cheeks.  Her  skin  was  white,  the 
scarlet  of  her  face  concentrating  in  her  lips. 

There  was  a  strange  consonance  between  the 
creamy  heavy  lace  and  its  flowing  intertwined 
figures,  and  the  free  it  encircled.  A  mystery,  a 
grace,  a  subtle  charm,  that  had  the  effect  of  a 
vivid  dream,  in  its  combination  of  clearness  and 
unreality.  There  was  life,  with  smothered  pas- 
sion and  pride  and  pain  in  it,  Mae  was  sure. 
So  near  to  her  that  her  voice  could  have 
arched  the  little  distance  easily,  and  yet  so  far 
away  from  her  life  and  all  that  touched  it. 

A  gentleman  attending  the  lady  whispered 


MAE  MADDEN.  85 

to  her.  She  bent  her  eyes  on  Mae,  and  met  her 
glance  with  a  smile,  and  Mae  smiled  rapturously 
back. 

Mae  had  been  looking  for  Bero  all  that  after- 
noon. She  felt  sure  he  would  be  there,  and 
very  soon  she  saw  him  among  a  crowd  of  offi- 
cers sauntering  slowly  down  the  Corso.  He 
looked  up  at  the  window  opposite.  The  veiled 
lady  leaned  slightly  forward  and  bowed  and 
waved  her  white  hand.  Bero  bowed.  So  did 
the  other  officers. 

Norman  Mann  and  Eric  excused  themselves 
long  enough  to  dash  over  to  welcome  their 
friends  and  then  stayed  on  for  a  little  chat. 
These  young  women  were  quite  gorgeous  in 
opera  cloaks  and  tiny,  nearly  invisible,  Ameri- 
can flags  tucked  through  their  belts.  They 
tossed  confetti  down  on  every  one's  heads,  and 
shouted — a  little  over-enthusiastically,  but  one 
can  pardon  even  gush  if  it  is  only  genuine. 
That  was  the  question  in  this  case. 

The  horse  race  came;  and  Mae  went  fairly 
wild.  When  it  was  over,  every  body  prepared 
to  go  home.  King  Pasquino  had  virtually 
abdicated  in  favor  of  the  Dinner  Kings.  Mae 
unclasped  her  tightly  strained  hands,  clambered 
down  from  a  chair  she  had  perched  herself  on, 


MADDEN. 


smiled  a  good-bye  at  the  veiled  lady,  and  came 
away.  She  rode  home  quietty  with  a  big  bou- 
quet of  exquisite  blue  violets  in  her  hand. 
There  was  a  rose  on  top  and  a  fringe  of  maid- 
en's hair  at  the  edge,  and  the  bouquet  was 
flung  from  Bero's  own  hand  up  at  the  side  win- 
dow on  the  quiet  Jesu  e  Maria,  when  every- 
one else  but  Mae  was  out  on  the  Corso  balcony. 

"  It  is  dreadful  to  grow  old,"  said  Mae,  break- 
ing silence,  as  the  carriage  clattered  over  the 
stony  streets. 

"  My  dear,"  expostulated  Edith,  "  you  surely 
don't  call  yourself  old.  What  do  you  mean?" 

u  I  fancied  I  could  take  the  Carnival  as  a 
child  takes  a  big  bonbon  and  just  think 
with  a  smack  of  the  lips,  4  My!  how  good  this 
is.'  But  here  I  am,  wondering  what  my  candy 
is  made  of  all  the  time,  and  forgetting,  except 
at  odd  moments,  to  enjoy  myself  for  trying  to 
separate  false  from  true,  and  gold  from  gilt. 
Still,  what  is  the  use  of  this  stuff  now!  I'll 
remember  that  horse  race,  for  there  I  did  for- 
get myself  and  everything  but  motion.  How 
I  would  like  to  be  a  horse!"  And  the  volatile 
Mae  seized  the  stems  of  her  bouquet  for  whip 
and  bridle  and  gave  a  little  inelegant  expres- 
sive click-click  to  her  lips  as  if  she  were  spur- 
ring that  imaginary  steed  herself. 


MAE  MADDEN.  87 

Norman  smiled.  u  We  can't  keep  children 
for  ever,  even — 

"  The  silliest  of  us?" 

"  Even  the  freshest  and  blithest." 

u  0,  dear,  that  is  like  a  moral  to  a  Sunday- 
school  book,"  said  Mae;  u  don't  be  goody- 
goody  to-night." 

u  What  bad  thing  shall  I  do  to  please  your 
majesty,  my  lady  Pasquino?" 

"  Waltz,"  said  Mae.  So,  after  dinner,  Edith 
and  Eric  sang,  and  Norman  and  Mae  took  to 
the  poetry  of  motion  as  ducks  take  to  water, 
and  outdanced  the  singers. 

u  Thank  you,"  said  Mae,  smiling  up  at  him. 
"  This  has  done  me  good."  She  pushed  the 
brown  hair  back  from  her  forehead  and  drew 
some  deep  breaths  and  leaned  back  in  her 
chair,  still  tapping  her  eager,  half-tired  foot 
against  the  floor,  while  Norman  fanned  her 
with  his  handkerchief. 

This  time  Bero  and  the  strange,  veiled  lady 
and  Miss  Hopkins  and  every  other  confusing 
thought  floated  off.  and  left  them  quite  happy 
for  —  well  — say  for  ten  minutes. 

And  ten  minutes  consecutive  enjoyment  is 
worth  waiting  for,  old  and  cynical  people  say. 


88  MAE  MADDEN. 

The  next  morning  brought  back  all  her 
troubles,  with  variations  and  complications,  on 
account  of  some  more  misunderstood  words. 

"  I  think,1'  said  Mae,  as  she  paused  to  blot  the 
tenth  page  of  a  home  letter,  u  that  likes  and  dis- 
likes are  very  similar,  don't  you,  Edith?"  Then, 
as  Edith  did  not  reply,  she  glanced  up,  and  saw 
that  her  friend's  chair  was  occupied  by  Norman 
Mann.  He  looked  up  also  and  smiled. 

u  I  am  not  Edith,  you  see,  but  I  am  interested 
in  your  theory  all  the  same.  Only,  as  I  am  a 
man,  I  shall  require  you  to  show  up  your 
reasons." 

"  Well,  1  find  that  people  who  affect  me  very 
intensely  either  way,  I  always  feel  intuitively 
acquainted  with.  I  know  what  they  will  think 
and  how  they  will  act  under  given  conditions, 
and  I  believe  we  are  driven  into  friendship  or 
strong  dislikes  more  by  the  force  of  circums- 
tances than  by — " 

u  Elective  affinities  or  any  of  that  nonsense," 
suggested  Norman  Mann. 

"  -Yes,"  said  Mae,  nodding  her  head,  and  re- 
peating her  original  statement  under  another 
form,  as  a  sort  of  conclusion  and  proof  to  the 
conversation.  u  Yes,  a  natural  acquaintance 
may  develope  into  your  best  friend  or  your  worst 


MAE  MADDEN.  89 

foe."  She  started  on  page  number  eleven  of 
her  letter,  dipping  her  pen  deep  into  the  ink- 
stand and  giving  such  a  particular  flourish  to 
her  right  arm,  as  to  nearly  upset  the  bouquet 
of  flowers  at  her  side.  It  was  Bero's  gift.  Nor- 
man Mann  put  out  his  hand  to  save  it.  His 
fingers  fell  in  among  the  soft  flowers  and 
touched  something  stiff.  It  felt  like  a  little 
roll  of  paper.  Indignantly  and  surprisedly  he 
pulled  it  out.  "  What  is  this?"  he  cried. 

Mae  sprang  forward,  her  cheeks  aflame.  "  It 
is  mine,"  she  said. 

uDid    you    put    it   here?"    asked   Norman. 

a  No." 

"  Then  how  do  you  know  it  is  yours  ?  Is  not 
this  a  carnival  bouquet,  idly  tossed  from  the 
street  to  the  balcony?" 

Mae  straightened  to  her  utmost  height 
which  wasn't  lofty  then  and  said  hastily  : 
"  Mr.  Mann,  this  is  utterly  absurd,  and  more.  I 
am  not  a  child,  and  if  I  catch  an  idly  flung 
bouquet  that  holds  idle  secrets,  I  surely  have  a 
right  to  them."  She  laughed  hurriedly. 
"  Come,  give  me  my  note, — some  Italian  babble, 
I  dare  say." 

Norman  looked  at  her  for  a  minute  with 
a  struggle  in  his  heart  and  a  flash  of  half 


90  MAE  MADDEN. 

scorn,  Mae  thought,  on  his  face.  What  was  he 
thinking? 

That  the  child  was  in  danger.  He  had  no 
doubt  in  his  own  mind  now  that  the  flowers 
and  the  note  came  from  Bero  and  that  Mae 
knew  it.  He  held  the  paper  crushed  in  his 
hand,  while  he  looked  at  her. 

"  I  presume  you  will  never  forgive  me,"  he 
said,  u  but  I  must  warn  you,  not  as  a  mentor 
or  even  as  a  friend,"  noticing  her  annoyed  air, 
u  but  as  one  soul  is  bound  to  warn  another  soul, 
seeing  it  in  danger.  Take  care  of  yourself,  and 
there!"  And  taking  the  crushed  note  between  his 
two  hands,  h'e  deliberately  tore  it  asunder  and 
threw  the  halves  on  the  table  before  her. 

uAnd  there,  and  there,  and  there!"  cried 
Mae,  tearing  the  fragments  impetuously,  and 
scattering  the  sudden  little  snow  flakes  before 
him.  Then,  with  a  look  of  supreme  contempt, 
she  left  the  room. 

Norman  looked  down  on  the  whita  heap  that 
lay  peacefully  at  his  feet.  UI  am  a  fool,"  he 
thought. 

"  Little  Mae  Madden,  little  Mae  Madden,  I 
am  so  sorry  for  you,"  repeated  that  excited  bit 
of  womankind  to  herself  in  the  silence  of  her 
own  room.  u  What  won't  they  drive  you  to 


MAE  MADDEN.  91 

yet?  How  dreadful  they  think  you  are?  And 
only  last  night  we  thought  things  were  all 
coming  around  beautifully!1' 

And  she  looked  at  herself  pityingly  in  the 
glass.  A  mirror  is  a  dangerous  thing  for  a 
woman  who  has  come  to  pity  herself.  She  sees 
the  possibilities  of  her  face  too  clearly.  And 
Mae,  looking  into  the  mirror  then,  realized  to 
an  extent  she  never  had  before,  that  her  eyes 
and  mouth  might  be  powerful  friends  to  her- 
self and  foes  to  Norman  Mann,  if  she  so  de- 
sired. And  to-day  she  did  so  desire,  and  went 
down  to  the  Carnival  with  as  reckless  and 
dangerous  a  spirit  as  good  King  Pasquino 
could  have  asked. 

The  details  of  this  day  were  very  like  those 
of  the  last.  Norman  and  Eric  vibrated  be- 
tween the  Madden  and  Hopkins  balconies;  the 
crowd  was  great;  confetti  and  flowers  filled  the 
air;  and  up  above  it  all,  circled  by  her  crown  of 
misty,  heavy  lace-work,  shone  out  the  beauti- 
ful, wonderful  face  of  the  strange  lady.  She 
dropped  smiles  from  under  her  long  black 
lashes  and  from  the  corners  of  the  rare,  sweet 
mouth  over  the  heads  of  the  idlers  to  Mae,  who 
looked  up  to  catch  them.  There  was  a  resting, 
almost  saving  influence,  Mae's  excited  sou] 
6 


92  MAE  MADDEN. 

believed,  in  the  strange  face;  and  her  eyes 
sought  it  constantly.  She  had  been  quite  ob- 
livious to  the  friends  about  this  beautiful 
stranger,  but  once,  as  her  eyes  sought  the  Ital- 
ian's, she  saw  her  arise  with  a  sudden  flash  of 
light  on  her  face,  and  hold  out  a  white  hand. 
A  head  bent  over  it,  and  as  it  lifted  itself 
slowly,  Mae  saw  once  more  the  well-known 
features  of  the  Signor  Bero. 

She  looked  down  toward  the  street  quickly 
and  a  sharp  pain  filled  her  heart. 

She  had  lost  her  only  friend  in  Rome,  so  the 
silly  girl  said  to  herself.  If  he  knew  that  won- 
derful woman,  and  if  she  flashed  those  weary, 
great  eyes  for  him,  how  could  he  see  or  think 
of  any  other  ?  Moreover,  it  was  very  vexa- 
tious to  have  him  there.  If  she  smiled  up  at 
the  girl,  Bero  might  think  she  was  watching 
him,  trying  to  attract  his  notice.  So  Mae  ap- 
peared very  careless  and  played  she  did  not  see 
him  at  all,  at  all.  Yet  she  could  not  resist 
looking  up  now  and  then  for  one  of  the  rare 
smiles.  Tney  seemed  like  very  far  between 
"nows  and  theus  "  to  Mae,  averaging  possibly  a 
distance  of  four  minutes  apart.  But  that  is  as 
one  counts  time  by  steady  clock-ticks,  and  not 
by  heart-beats. 


MAE  MADDEN.  93 

Meanwhile,  what  could  she  do  with  her 
eyes?  They  would  wander  once  in  a  while 
over  to  the  opposite  balcony,  at  just  such  mo- 
ments as  when  Norman  Mann  was  picking  up 
Miss  Rae's  fan  and  receiving  her  thanks  for 
it  from  under  her  drooped  eyelids,  or  choosing 
a  flower  for  himself,  u  the  very,  very  prettiest, 
Mr.  Mann,1'  before  she  threw  the  rest  to  the 
winds  and  the  passing  gallants. 

As  Mae  grew  reckless  her  eyes  grew  bright. 
There  were  few  passers-by  who  were  not  at- 
tracted by  the  flash  of  those  eyes.  The  sailor 
lads,  as  they  trundled  past  in  their  ship  on 
wheels,  left  the  barrels  of  lime  from  which  they 
had  been  pelting  the  pleasure-seekers  to  throw 
whole  handfuls  of  flowers  up  to  the  Jesu  e 
Maria  balcony;  a  set  of  hale  young  English- 
men picked  out  their  prettiest  bonbons  for  the 
same  purpose;  and  one  elderly,  pompous  man, 
who  drove  unmasked  and  with  staring  opera 
glasses  up  and  down  the  Corso,  quite  showered 
her  with  bouquets,  which  he  threw  so  poorly, 
and  with  such  a  shaky  old  hand,  that  the  street 
gamins  caught  them  all  except  such  as  he  craft- 
ily flung  so  that  they  might  assuredly  tumble 
back  to  the  carriage  again.  And  Mae,  though 
she  had  felt  the  pleased  gaze  of  a  good  many 


94  MAE  MADDEN. 

eyes  before,  had  never  quite  put  its  meaning 
plainly  to  herself.  She  was  apt,  on  such  oc- 
casions, to  feel  high-spirited,  excited,  joyous, 
but  now  she  realized  well  that  she  was  being 
admired,  and  she  led  on  for  victory  ardently. 

She  tossed  back  little  sprays  of  flowers,  or 
quiet  bonbons,  or  now  and  then  mischievously 
let  drop  a  sprinkling  of  confetti  balls  through 
her  half-closed  fingers.  To  do  this  she  drooped 
her  hand  low  over  among  the  balcony  trim- 
mings, following  the  soft  shower  with  her 
eyes,  as  some  straight  soldier  would  wipe  the 
tiny  minie  balls  from  his  face  and  glance  up  to 
see  where  they  came  from.  If  he  looked  up  once, 
he  never  failed  to  look  again,  and  generally 
darted  around  the  nearest  corner  to  return  with 
his  offering,  in  the  shape  of  flowers  or  other 
pretty  carnival  nonsense.  Mae  rather  satisfied 
her  conscience,  which  was  tolerably  fast  asleep 
for  the  time  being,  at  any  rate,  with  the  fact 
that  she  didn't  smile  at  these  strangers — she 
only  looked! 

Her  pleasure  wss  heightened  by  the  knowl- 
edge that  she  was  watched.  If  she  glanced 
across  quickly,  Miss  Rae's  eyes  were  invariably 
fixed  on  her  and  Norman  Mann  would  be  gaz- 
ing in  the  opposite  direction  in  the  most  sus- 


MAE  MADDEN.  95 

picious  manner.  From  above  her  strange  friend 
leaned  over  admiringly  and  once,  as  Mae  looked 
joyously  upwards,  clapped  her  white  hands 
softly  together,  while  beyond  her  a  tall  figure 
stood  motionless.  Mae  had  pretended  not  to 
see  Bero  yet,  but  as  the  Italian  applauded  her 
in  this  gentle  manner,  her  eyes  sought  his  in- 
voluntarily. He  was  gazing  very  fixedly  and 
rapturously  down  on  her,  without  any  apparent 
thought  of  the  beautiful  girl  by  his  side.  After 
that,  Mae  looked  up  often,  in  a  glad,  childlike 
way,  for  spite  of  this  first  lesson  in  wholesale 
coquetry,  and  the  new  conflict  of  emotions 
within  her  mind,  she  was  enjoying  herself  with 
the  utter  abandon  of  her  glad  nature. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  afternoon,  the  Ital- 
ian was  suddenly  surrounded  by  a  great  mass 
of  flowers,  over  which  she  waved  her  hand  ca- 
ressingly and  pointed  down  at  Mae.  a  For 
you,11  the  gesture  seemed  to  say.  The  veiled 
lady  appeared  to  summon  several  of  her  friends, 
for  a  number  of  gentlemen  left  the  other  win- 
dow and  its  group  of  girls,  and  began  the  diffi- 
cult task  of  attempting  to  toss  the  bouquets  from 
their  height  down  to  Mae.  This  was  rendered 
the  more  difficult  as  the  Madden  balcony  was 
covered,  and  the  best  shots  succeeded  in  land- 


96  MAE  MADDEN. 

ing  their  trophies  on  this  awning,  where  they 
were  speedily  captured  and  drawn  in  by  the 
occupants  of  the  next  flat,  an  ogre  of  an  old 
woman  and  her  hook-nosed  daughter,  who  wore 
an  ugly  green  dress  and  was  otherwise  unat- 
tractive. 

The  entire  Madden  party  became  interested 
and  stood  looking  on  with  the  most  encourag- 
ing smiles.  The  very  last  bouquet  was  vainly 
thrown,  however,  and  gathered  in  by  the  ogre, 
when  Bero  suddenly  appeared,  a  little  behind 
the  party  in  the  window.  The  flowers  in  his 
hand  were  of  the  same  specimens  as  those  he 
had  given  Mae  the  day  before,  although  dif- 
ferent in  arrangement.  He  lifted  the  bouquet 
quickly  to  his  lips,  so  quickly  that  perhaps  only 
Mae  understood  the  motion,  and  flung  it  light- 
ly forward.  Mae  leaned  over  the  balcony, 
reaching  out  her  eager  hands,  and  caught  it  in 
her  very  finger  tips.  The  party  above  bowed 
and  applauded,  as  she  raised  the  flowers  tri- 
umphantly to  her  face. 

So  the  second  day  of  the  Carnival  was  a  suc- 
cess, till  they  turned  their  backs  on  the  Corso. 
In  the  carriage  Mrs.  Jerrold  spoke  gently  but 
firmly  to  Mae.  "  Be  a  little  more  careful,  dear; 
don't  let  your  spirits  carry  you  quite  away 


MAE  MADDEN.  97 

during  these  mad  days."     Mae  smiled,  but  was 
silent. 

"  What  a  strangely  beautiful  girl  that  was  in 
the  gallery  opposite,11  Edith,  said,  a  moment  la- 
ter. "  I  wonder  if  she  is  engaged  to  that  su- 
perb man  ;  I  fancied  I  had  seen  him  before. 
Why,  Mae,  what  in  the  world  are  you  blushing 
at  ?  11  For  Mae's  face  was  scarlet.  u  Why,  no- 
thing,1' replied  Mae,  redder  yet ;  "  nothing  at 
all.  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

The  same  thought  occurred  to  Edith  and 
Albert.  The  officer  was  Mae's  chance  acquaint- 
ance. They  both  looked  grave,  and  Albert  re- 
marked :  "  It  is  as  well  to  be  careful  before  get- 
ting up  too  sudden  an  acquaintance  with  your 
Italian  girl.  Take  care  of  your  eyes." 

u  Has  it  come  to  this  ?  "  cried  Mae,  half  jest- 
ingly, half  bitterly.  "Are  not  my  very  eyes  my 
own  ?  I  shall  feel,  Albert,  as  if  you  were  try- 
ing to  bind  me  in  that  chain  you  threatened," 
and  Mae  started  :  her  fingers  had  felt  another 
scrap  of  paper  among  the  flowers,  but  she  did 
not  drop  it  from  the  carriage,  as  her  first  im- 
pulse was;  she  held  it  tight  and  close  in  her 
warm  right  hand  until  she  was  fairly  at  home 
and  safe  in  her  own  room.  Then  she  opened 
and  read  in  an  Italian  hand,  "  To  my  little 
Queen  of  the  Carnival." 


98  MAE  MADDEN. 

Could  lie  have  written  that  as  he  stood  by 
the  wonderful  veiled  lady,  with  her  white  mys- 
terious beauty,  with  the  purple  shadows  about 
her  dark  eyes,  while  she —  and  Mae  looked  in 
her  glass  again.  What  did  she  see  ?  Certainly 
a  different  picture,  but  a  picture  for  all  that. 
Life  and  color  and  youth,  a-tremble  and  a-quiver 
in  every  quick  movement  of  her  face,  in  the 
sudden  lifting  of  the  eyelids,  the  swift  turn  of 
the  lips,  the  litheness  and  carelessness  of  every 
motion;  above  and  beyond  all,  the  picture  pos- 
sessed that  rare  quality  which  some  artist  has 
declared  to  be  the  highest  beauty,  that  pictur- 
esque charm  which  shines  from  within,  that 
magnetic  flash  and  quiver  which  comes  and 
goes  "  ere  one  can  say  it  lightens." 

The  veiled  lady's  face  was  stranger,  more 
mysterious,  to  an  artistic  or  an  imaginative 
mind;  but  youth,  and  intense  life,  and  end- 
less variety  usually  carry  the  day  with  a  man's 
captious  heart,  and  so  Bero  called  Mae 
"  My  little  Queen  of  the  Carnival." 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

AE'S  good  times  were  greatly  dimmed 
after  this  by  the  thought  that  she 
was  watched.  The  bouquets  which 
came  daily  from  Bero  troubled  her 
also  not  a  little.  They  were  invariably  formed 
of  the  same  flowers,  and  might  easily  attract 
Edith's  attention  and  possible  suspicion.  So  she 
stayed  home  from  the  Corso  one  day  not  long 
after,  when  she  was  in  a  particularly  Corso-Car- 
nival  mood.  She  wandered  helplessly  about, 
restless  and  full  of  desire  to  be  down  at  the 
balcony  with  the  rest.  And  such  a  strange 
thing  is  the  human  heart,  that  it  was  Norman 
Mann's  face  she  saw  before  her  constantly, 
and  she  found  Miss  Rae's  little  twinkling  sort 
of  eyes  far  more  haunting  than  those  of  her 
veiled  friend. 

The  rich  life  in  Mae's  blood  was  surging  in 
her  veins  and  must  be  let  off  in  some  way.  If 
she  had  had  her  music  and  a  piano  she  might 
have  thrown  her  soul  into  some  great  flood- 
waves  of  harmony.  The  Farnesina  frescoes 
of  Cupid  and  Psyche  over  across  the  Tiber 


100  MAE  MADDEN. 

would  have  helped  her,  but  here  she  was  alone, 
and  so  she  did  what  so  many  "  fervent  souls  " 
do — scribbled  her  heart  out  in  a  colorful,  bar- 
barous rhyme.  Mae  had  ordinarily  too  good 
sense  for  this,  too  deep  a  reverence  for  that 
world  of  poetry,  at  the  threshold  of  which  one 
should  bow  the  knee,  and  loose  the  shoe  from  his 
foot,  and  tread  softly.  She  didn't  care  for  this 
to-day.  She  plunged  boldly  in,  wrote  her  verse, 
copied  it,  sent  it  to  a  Roman  English  paper, 
and  heard  from  it  again  two  days  later,  in  the 
following  way. 

The  entire  party  were  breakfasting  together, 
when  Albert  suddenly  looked  up  from  his  paper 
and  laughed.     "  Look  here,"  he  cried.  u  Here  is 
another    of  those    dreadful   imitators   of    the 
Pre-Raphaelite  school.     Hear  this  from  a  so- 
called  poem  in  the  morning's  journal: 
*  The  gorgeous  brown  reds 
Of  the  fall-throated  creatures  of  song.'  " 

"  I  don't  see  anything  bad  in  that,"  said  Eric, 
helping  himself  to  another  muffin.  "  What  is 
the  matter  with  you?  " 

"  Matter  enough,"  returned  Albert.  ;t  Be- 
cause their  masters,  sometimes,  daub  on  colors 
with  their  full  palettes  and  strong  brushes,  this 
feeble  herd  tag  after  them  and  flounder  around 


MAE  MADDEN.  101 

in  color  and  passion  in  a  way  that  is  sickening." 
uGo  on,"  shouted  Eric,  uhe  is  our  own 
brother,  Mae,  after  all,  you  see.  Fancy  my 
Lord  Utilitarian  turning  to  break  a  lance  in 
defence  of  beauty.  Edith,  you  and  the  picture- 
galleries  are  to  blame  for  this." 

Mae  had  been  paying  great  attention  to  her 
rolls  and  coffee,  and  very  little  apparently  to  the 
conversation,  but  she  spoke  eagerly  now. 
"  Their  masters  do  not  daub.  They  do  hold 
palettes  full  of  the  strongest,  richest  colors, 
and  dare  lay  them,  in  vivid  flecks,  on  their  can- 
vas. They  do  not  care  if  they  may  offend 
some  modern  cultivated  eyes,  used  only  to  the 
invisible  blues  and  shadowy  greens  and  that 
host  of  cold,  lifeless,  toneless  grays,  of  refined 
conventional  art.  They  know  well  enough  that 
their  satisfying  reds  and  browns  and  golds  of 
rich,  free  nature  will  go  to  the  beating  hearts 
of  some  of  us." 

Mae  had  a  way  of  dashing  into  conversation 
abruptly,  and  the  Madden  family  had  been 
brought  up  on  argument  and  table-talk.  So 
the  rest  of  the  party  ate  their  breakfast  placid- 
ly enough.  "  Mae's  right,"  said  Eric,  a  trifle 
grandly,  "  only,  to  change  the  figure  of  speech 
for  one  better  fitted  for  the  occasion,  they 


102  MAE  MADDEN. 

may  satiate,  though  they  never  starve  you.  But 
they  are  wonderfully  fine,  sometimes.  0, 
bother,  I  never  can  quote,  but  there  is  some- 
thing about  '  I  will  go  back  to  the  great  sweet 
mother.11' 

u  Or  this,11  suggested  Mae, 

"  '  And  to  me  thou  art  matchless  and  fair 
As  the  tawny  sweet  twilight,  with  blended 
.   Sunlight  and  red  stars  in  her  hair.'  " 

u  1  love  my  masters,11  continued  this  young 
enthusiast,  u  because  they  fling  all  rules  aside, 
and  cry  out  as  they  choose.  It  is  their  very 
heart's  blood  and  the  lusty  wine  of  life  that 
they  give  you,  not  just  a  scrap  of  l  rosemary 
for  remembrance,1  and  a  soothing  herb-tea 
made  from  the  flowers  of  fancy  they  have  culled 
from  those  much  travestied,  abominable  fields  of 
thought.11 

"  And  this  from  a  lover  of  Wordsworth,  who 
holds  the '  Daffodils 1  and  c  Lucy 7  as  her  chief  jew- 
els, and  quotes  the  'Immortality1  perpetually!  " 
cried  Eric.  "  If  any  body  ever  wandered  up 
and  down  those  same  fields  of  thought,  by 
more  intricate,  labyrinthine  passages  and  by- 
ways, I'd  like  to  know  of  him.  Talk  about 
soothing  herbs,  bless  me,  it's  hot  catnip-tea, 
good  and  strong,  that  he  serves  up  in  half  5f 
his  strings  about—11 


MAE  MADDEN.  103 

"  0,  Eric,  hush,"  cried  Mae,  u  I  am  afraid  for 
you  with  such  words  on  your  lips.  Think  of 
Ananias." 

"  Before  you  children  go  wandering  off  on 
one  of  your  poet  fights,"  broke  in  Albert,  "  let 
me  take  you  to  task,  Mae,  for  stealing;  that 
lusty  wine  you  talked  of  just  now  is  in  the 
poem  (?)  I  holddn  my  hand." 

ut)o  read  it  to  us,"  said  Edith,  "and  let  us 
judge  for  ourselves."  So  Albert  began: 

ALL  OK  A  SUMMER'S  DAY. 

"  Far  away  the  mountains  rise,  purpling  and  joyous, 
Through  the  half  mist  of  the  warm  pulsing  day,  while 
nigh 

At  hand  gay  birds  hang  swinging  and  floating 
And  waving  betwixt  earth  and  sky, 

Ringing  out  from  ripe  throats 

A  sensuous  tricklingaof  notes, 
That  fall  through  the  trees, 
Till  caught  by  the  soft-rocking  breeze 

They  are  borne  to  the  ears  of  the  maiden. 

Her  eyes  wander  after  the  sound, 
And  glimpses  she  catches  along 

Through  green  broad-leaved  shadows, 
Through  sunbeams  gold-strong, 

Of  the  gorgeous  brown  reds  of  the  full-throated  crea- 
tures of  song. 

One  hand  on  her  brown  bosom  rests, 


104  MAE  MADDEN. 

Rising  and  falling  with  every  heart-beat 
Of  the  delicate,  slow-swelling  breasts. 

A  lily,  proud,  all  color  of  amber  and  wine, 
Waves  peerless  there,  by  right  divine 
Queen  o'er  the  moment  and  place. 
As  the  wind  bends  her  coaxingly, 
Brushes  softly  the  maiden's  white  hand- 
That  falls  with  an  idle  grace, 
Listlessly  closed  at  her  side — 
With  a  rippling  touch,  such  as  the  tide, 
Rising,  leaves  on  a  summer  day, 
On  the  quiet  shore  of  some  peaceful  bay. 

There  she  stands  in  the  heavily-bladed  grass, 

Under  the  trumpet-vine, 
Drinking  long,  deep,  intoxicate  draughts 

Of  Nature's  lusty,  live  wine. 
There  he  sees  her  as  he  approaches ; 

Then  pauses,  as  full  on  his  ear 

There  swells,  on  a  sudden,  loud  and  clear, 
A  wonderful  burst  of  song. 

A  mad  delicious  glory;  a  rainbow  rhythm  of  life, 
Strong  and  young  and  free,  a  burst  of  the  senses  all 

astrife, 

Each  one  fighting  to  be  first, 
While  above,  beyond  them  all, 
Loud  a  woman's  heart  makes  call." 

"Now,  fire  ahead,'1  said  Eric,  "get  your 
stones  ready.  Mrs.  Jerrold,  pray  begin;  let  us 
put  down  this  young  parrot  with  her  ;  lusty, 
live  wine.' ' 


HAE  MADDEN.  105 

u  Her?1'  exclaimed  Edith,  a  Him,  you  mean." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it ;  a  woman  wrote  that, 
didn't  she?" 

Eric  was  very  confident.  Norman  agreed 
with  him,  and  he  glanced  at  Mae  to  discover 
her  opinion.  There  was  a  look  of  secret  amuse- 
ment in  her  face,  and  a  dim  suspicion  entered 
his  mind,  which  decided  him  to  watch  her 
closely. 

"  Well,':  said  Mrs.  Jerrold,  "  I  will  be  lenient. 
You  children  may  throw  all  the  stones.  It  is 
not  poetry  to  my  taste.  There's  no  metre  to  it, 
and  I  should  certainly  be  sorry  to  think  a 
woman  wrote  it." 

"Why?"  asked  Mae,  quickly,  almost  com- 
mandingly.  Norman  glanced  at  her.  There 
was  a  tiny  rosebud  on  each  cheek. 

"  Because,"  replied  Mrs.  Jerrold,  "  it  is  too— 
too  what,  Edith?" 

"  Physical,  perhaps,"  suggested  Edith. 

ult  is  a  satyr-like  sort  of  writing,"  suggested 
Norman. 

"  I  should  advise  this  person,"  said  Edith— 

"To  keep  still?  "  interrupted  Eric. 

"  No,  to  go  to  work;  tha't  is  what  he  or  she 
needs." 

u  That    is    odd  advice,"    said    Mae  ;    "  sup- 


106  MAE  MADDEN. 

pose  she — or  he — is  young,  doesn't  know  what  to 
do,  is  a  traveler,  like  ourselves,  for  instance." 

"  There  are  plenty  of  benevolent  schemes  in 
Rome,  I  am  sure,"  said  Edith,  a  trifle  sancti- 
moniously. 

8t  And  there's  study,"  said  Albert,  "  art  or 
history.  Think  what  a  chance  for  study- 
ing them  one  has  here.  Yes,  Edith  is  right- 
work  or  study,  and  a  general  shutting  up  of  the 
fancy  is  what  this  mind  needs." 

"  I  disagree  with  you  entirely,"  said  Norman 
with  energy.  u  She  needs  play,  relaxation,  free- 
dom." Then  he  was  sorry  he  had  said  it;  Mae's 
eyes  sparkled  so. 

u  She  needs,"  said  Eric,  pushing  back  his 
chair,  "  to  be  married.  She  is  in  love.  That's 
what's  the  matter.  Read  those  two  last  lines, 
Albert: 

'  While  above,  beyond  them  all, 
Loud  a  woman's  heart  makes  call.' 

"Dom'tyousee?" 

"  0,  wise  young  man,"  laughed  Edith.  But 
Mae  arose.  The  scarlet  buds  in  her  cheeks 
flamed  into  full-blown  roses.  u  There  speaks 
the  man,"  she  cried  passionately,  "and  pray 
doesn't  a  woman's  heart  ever  call  for  anything 
but  love — aren't  life  and  liberty  more  than  all 


MAE  MADDEN.  107 

the  love  in  the  world?  Oh!"  and  she  stopped 
abruptly. 

"  Well,  we  have  wasted  more  time  than  is 
worth  while  over  this  young,  wild  gosling," 
laughed  Albert.  "Let  us  hope  she  will  take 
our  advice." 

Mae  shook  her  head  involuntarily.  There 
was  a  smile  on  Norman  Mann's  lips. 

"Here's  health  and  happiness  to  the  poor 
child  at  any  rate,"  he  said. 

"  He  pities  me,"  thought  Mae,  "  and  1  hate 
him."  But  then  she  didn't  at  all. 

Mae  wandered  off  to  the  kitchen,  as  usual, 
that  day,  for  another  of  Lisetta's  stories.  The 
Italian,  with  her  glibness  of  tongue  and  ready 
fund  of  anecdote,  was  transformed  in  her  im- 
aginative mind  into  a  veritable  improvisatore. 
Talila  was  not  by  any  means  the  only  heroine  of 
the  little  tales.  Mae  had  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  many  youths  and  maidens,  and  to-day 
Lisetta,  after  thinking  over  her  list  of  impor- 
tant personages,  chose  the  Madre  Ilkana  as  the 
heroine  of  the  occasion.  Mae  had  already 
heard  one  or  two  amusing  incidents  connected 
with  this  old  mother.  "  I  am  sure  she  has  a 
cousin  in  America,"  she  asserted  to-day,  before 
Lisetta  began,  "  for  I  know  her  well.  She 
7 


108  MAE  MADDEN. 

knits  all  the  time,  and  is  as  bony  as  a  ledge  of 
rocks,  and  her  eyes  are  as  sharp  as  her  knitting- 
needles,  and  her  words  are  the  sharpest  of  all. 
Her  name  is  Miss  Mary  Ann  Rogers.  Is  she 
like  the  Madre  Ilkana?" 

Lisetta  shook  her  head.  u  No,  no,  Signorina, 
La  Madre  is  as  plump  and  round  as  a  loaf  of 
bread,  and  as  soft  as  the  butter  on  it.  She  has 
five  double  chins  that  she  shakes  all  the  while, 
but  then  she  has  stiff,  bristles,  like  a  man's, 
growing  on  them,  and  her  knitting-needles  and 
her  words  are  all  sharp  as  la  Signora  Maria 
Anne  R-o-o-g-eers,  I  doubt  not.  But  her  eyes! 
Why,  Signorina,  she  has  the  evil  eye!"  This 
Lisetta  said  in  a  whisper,  while  Giovanni 
.  shrugged  his  shoulders  bravely,  arid  little  Ro- 
berto cuddled  closer  to  Mae. 

"Yes,"  continued  Lisetta,  "and  so  no  one 
knows  exactly  about  her  eyes,  not  daring  to 
look  directly  into  them,  bat  as  nearly  as  I  can 
make  out  they  are  black,  and  have  a  soft  veil 
over  them,  so  that  you  would  think  at  first  they 
were  just  about  to  cry,  when  suddenly,  fires 
creep  up  and  burn  out  the  drops,  and  leave  her 
hot  and  angry  and  scorching. 

"  She  must  be  terrible,"  cried  Mae,  with  a 
sudden  shrinking. 


MAE  MADDEN1.  109 

u  She  is  terrible,"  replied  Lisetta,  u  but  then 
she  is  very  clever.  You  will  see  if  she  is  not 
clever  when  you  hear  the  story  I  shall  now  tell 
you,"  and  Lisetta  laughed,  and  showed  her  own 
one  double  chin,  with  its  two  little  round 
dimples.  Then  she  smoothed  down  her  peasant 
apron,  bade  Giovanni  leave  off  pinching  Ro- 
berto, and  commenced. 

u  The  government  hates  the  banditti,"  began 
Lisetta,  wisely,  "  and  indeed  it  should,"  and  she 
looked  gravely  at  Giovanni,  u  for  they  are  very 
wild  men,  who  live  reckless,  bad  lives,  and  steal, 
and  are  quite  dreadful.  But  we  poor,  we  do  not 
hate  them  as  the  government  does,  because  they 
are  good  to  us,  and  do  not  war  with  us,  and 
sometimes  those  we  love  join  them — a  brother 
or  a  cousin,  perhaps" — and  LisettaV  black  eyes 
filled,  and  her  lip  quivered.  u  As  for  the 
Madre,  she  loved  them  all,  and  said  they  were 
all  relations. 

"At  this  time  of  which  I  speak,  the  soldiers 
were  chasing  and  hunting  the  banditti  very 
hard,  and  they  had  been  compelled  to  hide  for 
their  lives  up  among  the  mountains.  There 
they  would  have  died,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
peasants,  who  supplied  them  with  food.  Small 
parties  of  the  bandits  would  come  out  for  it. 


110  MAS  MADDEN. 

There  were  two  very  powerful  men  of  the 
banditti,  who  were  skirmishing*about  in  this 
way,  not  far  from  the  Madre  Ilkana's,  when 
they  saw  two  soldiers,  in  advance  of  their 
company,  approaching-'  them.  The  banditti 
were  not  afraid  for  themselves,  but  they  wanted 
to  get  back  to  their  friends  with  the  bread  and 
meat,  so  instead  of  fighting,  they  fled  to  the 
Madre.  She  took  them  in,  and  bade  them  be 
sure  they  were  safe  with  her.  But  the  soldiers 
had  caught  sight  of  them,  and  they  stopped  at 
every  house  and  enquired  anJ  searched  for 
them;  and  so,  soon  they  came  to  the  Madre  II- 
kana's.  They  charged  her  in  the  name  of  the 
government  to  give  up  the  banditti  in  her 
house.  The  Madre  kept  on  with  her  knitting, 
and  told  them  there  were  only  her  two  sons  in 
the  house,  and  mothers  never  gave  up  their 
sons  to  any  one. 

"  l  Ha!'  laughed  one  of  the  soldiers, l  mothers 
must  give  up  their  children  to  King  Death,  and 
it  is  He  who  wants  your  bad  boys.'  Upon 
which,  the  Madre  arose  and  cursed  them. 
Curses  are  common  with  us,  Signorina,  but  not 
La  Madre's  curses.  She  talked  of  their  mothers 
to  them,  and  of  their  sons,  and  of  the  Holy  Vir- 
gin and  child,  and  she  cursed  them  in  the  name 


MAE  MADDEN.  HI 

of  all  these,  if  they  dared  steal  her  children 
from  her.  They  should  take  them  over  her 
old  dead  body,  she  swore,  though  her  knitting- 
needles  and  her  eyes  were  her  only  weapons, 
and  then  she  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  them, 
with  the  evil  spirit  leering  and  laughing  out  of 
them,  and  the  soldiers,  one  of  whom  was  an 
officer,  fell  on  their  knees  and  shook  like  leaves, 
and  prayed  her  to  forgive  them;  saying  that  they 
were  sure  her  boys  were  good  sons,  and  no  ban- 
ditti. And  while  they  knelt  crouching  there,  La 
Madre  knocked  on  the  floor  and  in  rushed  the 
banditti,  armed  with  great  knives.  They  caught 
and  bound  the  two  soldiers,  and  took  away  their 
weapons,  and  jumped  on  their  horses,  and  fled. 
"  La  Madre  took  her  knitting  again,  and  sat 
down  quietly  by  the  side  of  the  bound  men,  un- 
til a  half  hour  later  some  twelve  more  soldiers 
cantered  up.  As  they  rode  by,  all  the  people 
came  to  their  doorways,  and  the  soldiers  stop- 
ped and  asked  if  they  had  seen  two  horsemen. 
Then  La  Madre  gathered  up  her  knitting  and 
went  quietly  out  into  the  crowd.  She  made  a 
low  bow  to  the  man  with  the  biggest  feather  in 
his  cap,  and  she  told  him  her  story.  '  I  have 
two  sons,'  she  said,  '  whom  I  love  so  well.' 
Then  she  told  how  the  soldiers  mistook  her 


112  MAE  MADDEN. 

sons  for  banditti,  and  tried  to  take  them  from 
her  in  her  own  house.  ;  Though  I  am  old,  I 
have  a  good  life  among  my  friends  and  neigh- 
bors here,  and. I  fought  a  while  in  my  own  mind 
before  I  said  to  my  sons:  Go,  my  boys,  your 
mother  will  die  for  you.  But  I  did  it.  I  bade 
them  bind  the  soldiers  and  steal  away.  Then 
I  sat  guarding  the  men  till  you  came.  You 
will  find  them  safe  in  my  little  house  there; 
Now,  take  me  to  prison — kill  me,  but  look  in 
my  eyes  first,  and  then,  whoever  lays  a  hand  on 
ine,  take  La  Madre  Ilkana's  curse.1 

u  And  the  people  all  swore  that  there  were  two 
snakes  coiled  up  in  La  Madre's  eyes  then,  and 
they  hissed,  and  struck  out  with  their  fiery 
tongues,  and  the  crowd  fell  on  their  knees,  and 
the  neighbors  all  set  up  a  great  shout  of  fc  La 
Madre  Ilkana,'  so  that  they  quite  drowned  the 
voice  of  the  man  with  the  big  feather.11 

"Is  that  all?11  asked  Mae,  as  Lisetta  paused. 
"  What  did  the  soldiers  do?11 

"  0,  they  hired  a  passing  carriage  to  take  the 
men  whose  horses  were  stolen  back  to  Castel- 
lamare,  and  they  all  cantered  off,  without  say- 
ing a  word  to  La  Madre,  and  when  they  had 
turned  a  corner  of  the  road,  she  began  to  laugh. 
0?  how  she  laughed!  All  the  people  laughed 


MAE  MADDEN.  /   H3 

with  her,  and  the  children  crowed  and  the  dogs 
barked,  for  the  rest  of  that  whole  day. 

"  And  a  neighbor  who  passed  La  Madre's  at 
midnight,  said  she  was  laughing  oat  loud  then." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

]IGNORINA."  Mae  was  passing  down 
the  long  hall  when  she  heard  the 
whisper.  She  turned  and  saw  Lisetta, 
with  shining  eyes  and  pink  cheeks, 
standing  at  her  side.  Her  pretty  plump  shoul- 
ders were  only  half  covered,  and  the  array  of 
colors  about  her  transformed  her  into  a  sort  of 
personified  rainbow.  This  was  Lisetta's  Car- 
nival attire,  and  very  proud  she  was  of  it. 

"  Why,  Lisetta,  what  do  you  want,  and  what 
makes  you  so  happy?  "  called  Mae. 

"  0,  Signorina,  the  cousins  are  here, — and 
others, — all  in  mask.  They  fill  Maria's  rooms 
quite  full.  It  is  very  gay  out  there,  and  they 
all  want  to  see  you,  Signorina.  I  have  told 
them  how  well  you  speak  Italian  and  how  you 
love  Italy,  and  to-night,  they  say,  you  shall  be 
one  of  us.  So  come.1'  All  this  while  Lisetta 
had  been  leading  Mae  swiftly  down  the  corri- 
dor, until  as  she  said  these  last  words,  she 
reached  and  pushed  open  the  door.  A  great 
shout  of  laughter  greeted  Mae's  ear,  and  a 
pretty  picture  met  her  eyes — gaily  decked 


MAE  MADDEN.  H5 

youths  and  maidens  clapping  their  hands  and 
chattering  brightly,  while  the  padrona  was  just 
entering  the  opposite  doorway,  bearing  two 
flasks  of  native  wine,  and  some  glasses. 

"  "Tis  genuine  Orvieto,"  she  called  out,  and 
this  raised  another  shout.  Then  she  caught 
sight  of  Mae  and  bowed  low  towards  her. 
u  Here  is  the  little  foreign  lady,"  she  cried,  and 
a  dozen  pairs  of  big  black  eyes  were  turned 
eagerly  and  warmly  on  Mae.  She  bowed  and 
smiled  at  them,  and  said  in  pleading  tones, 
u  0,  pray  do  not  call  me  the  l  little  foreign 
lady  '  now.  Play  I  am  as  good  an  Italian  as 
my  heart  could  wish  I  were." 

This  speech  was  received  with  new  applause, 
and  the  padrona  handed  around  the  glasses  say- 
ing: u  We  must  drink  first  to  the  health  of 
our  new  Italian.  May  she  never  leave  us." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  called  Lisetta,  lifting  high  her 
glass.  u  Yes,  yes,"  cried  all,  and  Mae  drank  as 
heartily  as  any  of  them.  Then  she  shook  her 
head  and  gazed  very  scornfully  down  on  her 
dark,  stylish  clothes.  "  I  am  not  thoroughly 
Italian  yet,"  she  cried.  "  Here,  and  here,  and 
here,"  cried  one  and  another,  proffering  bits  of 
their  own  gay  costumes,  and  in  a  moment  Mae 
bad  received  all  sorts  of  tributes — a  string  of 


116  MAE  MADDEN. 

red  beads  from  one,  a  long  sash  from  another, 
a  big-balled  stiletto  from  a  third,  so  that  she 
was  able  from  the  gleanings  to  trim  herself  up 
into  at  least  a  grotesque  and  un-American  Car- 
nival figure.  Then  the  Italians  with  their  soft 
tongues  began  to  flatter  her. 

"  How  lovely  the  Signorina  would  look  in  a 
contadina  costume — the  home  costume,"  said 
Lisetta  gravely.  u  It  is  so  beautiful,  is  it  not?  " 
And  then  those  two  or  three  privileged  ones, 
who  had  seen  Lisetta's  home,  went  into  ecsta- 
sies over  its  many  charms.  Lisetta,  next  to 
the  Signorina,  was  the  heroine  of  the  occasion. 
She  was  from  a  distance,  was  handsome  and 
clever,  and  the  padrona  gave  glowing  accounts 
of  her  full  purse,  and  two  pretty  donkeys,  and 
house  by  the  sea. 

They  had  a  very  gay  time.  Such  singing, 
and  then  dancing  and  frolicking,  and  such  a 
feline  softness  in  all  their  gaiety.  None  of  the 
German  or  Saxon  bullying,  and  barking  and 
showing  of  teeth;  in  no  wise  a  game  of  dogs, 
which  always  ends  in  a  fight ;  but  a  truly  kitten- 
ish play,  with  sharp  claws  safely  tucked  out  of 
sight  behind  the  very  softest  paws,  and  a  rich, 
gentle  curve  of  motion,  inexpressibly  witching 
to  our  little  northern  maiden,  who  was  fast 


MAE  MADDEN.  117 

losing  her  head  amid  it  all.  Mae  did  not  reflect 
that  felines  are  treacfierous.  She  only  drew  a 
quick,  mental  picture  of  the  'parlor  on  the  other 
side  of  the  hall,  which  she  compared  to  this 
gay  scene.  Mrs.  Jerrold  filling  in  dull  row 
after  row  of  her  elaborate  sofa  cushion,  which 
was  bought  in  all  its  gorgeousness  of  floss  fawn's 
head  and  bead  eyes,  Edith  and  Albert  hard  at 
work  over  their  note  books,  or  reading  up  for 
the  sights  of  to-morrow,  Mr.  Mann  with  his 
open  book  also,  all  quiet  and  studious.  Eric, 
alone,  might  be  softly  whistling,  or  writing  an 
invitation  to  Miss  Hopkins  to  climb  up  St. 
Peter's  dome  with  him,  or  to  -visit  the  tomb  of 
Cecilia  Metella,  or  the  Corso,  as  the  case  might 
be,  while  here — 

As  Mae  reached  this  point  in  her  musings, 
the  Italians  were  forming  for  a  dance,  so  she 
sprang  up  to  join  them.  Two  or  three  peas- 
ants from  the  country  south  had  wandered  up 
with  the  world  to  Rome,  for  Carnival  time, 
then  for  Lent.  They  had  brought  with  them 
their  pipes  and  zitterns.  In  the  mornings  they 
made  shprt  pilgrimages,  playing  in  front  of 
the  shrines  about  the  city,  or  roaming  out  on 
the  campagna  to  some  quiet  church.  In  the 
evening  time  they  wandered  up  the  stone  stair- 


118  MAE  MADDEN. 

ways  of  the  great  houses,  and  paused  on  the 
landings  before  the  different  homes.  If  all 
was  still  they  passed  on,  but  if  there  was  noise, 
laughter,  sound  of  voices,  they  laid  aside  their 
penitential  manner,  and  struck  into  dance 
music,  flashing  their  velvety  eyes,  and  striking 
pretty  attitudes,  aided  greatly  by  their  Alpine 
hats  and  sheep-skins  and  scarlet-banded 
stockings. 

Three  of  these  peasants  had  appeared  at  the 
padrona's  doorway,  by  a  sort  of  magic.  They 
bowed  and  smiled,  and  commenced  to  play. 
Every  one  sprang  up.  u  Dance,"  cried  they 
all,  and  flew  for  their  partners.  Mae  found  her- 
self in  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  and  having  the 
most  willing  and  nimble  of  feet,  she  soon  toned 
and  coaxed  the  fashionable  waltz  on  which  she 
had  started  into  accord  with  the  more  elastic 
footsteps  of  her  companion.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  serpentine,  winding  and  unwind- 
ing motion,  the  coaxingness  of  the  steps,  that 
was  deliciously  intoxicating  to  Mae.  The  color 
came  to  her  cheeks,  the  smile  played  around 
her  lips,  and  when  she  paused  to  breathe,  she 
found  the  Italians  showing  their  white 
teeth,  and  clapping  their  brown  hands  in  her 
honor,  while  the  tallest  musician  gazed  at  her 


MAE  MADDEN.  119 

from  the  dark  doorway,  with  the  rapt  reverence 
he  gave  to  all  things  beautiful  and  thrilling. 
She  was  a  new  song  to  him. 

u  The  Signorina  is  the  veriest  Italian  of  us 
all,"  cried  Lisetta. 

"  She  honors  our  Italy,"  called  Mae's  last 
partner. 

u  Her  feet  are  those  of  a  chamois,"  said  one 
from  the  north. 

"  Nay,  she  flies,"  replied  another. 

They  all  spoke  in  their  earnest  manner,  and 
the  praises,  that  fall  in  fulsome  flattery  in 
English,  were  delicate  and  stimulating  as  they 
slid  in  soft  Italian  from  their  full,  red  lips. 
Mae  tossed  her  head  carelessly,  but  she  sipped 
the  praises  and  found  them  sweet. 

"  Now  for  the  Tarantella,"  said  the  padrona, 
so  Lisetta  shook  her  tambourine  wildly,  and 
the  very  prettiest  girl  of  them  all,  and  a  big, 
brown  boy  (happy  fellow!)  began  that  co- 
quettish bit  of  witchery.  The  pretty  girl 
tripped  around  and  around  and  wreathed  her 
arms  over  her  head,  and  the  boy  knelt  appeal- 
ingly  and  sprang  up  passionately  again  and 
again,  until  the  clock  struck  ten,  and  the  party 
broke  up.  Mae  shook  hands  with  a  new  friend. 
He  was  a  stone-cutter,  and  was  soon  to  be  mar- 


120  MAE  MADDEN. 

ried,  and  he  poured  out  all  his  plans  and  hopes 
into  her  sympathetic  ears,  and  told  of  his  pretty 
bride  to  be,  and  of  her  dowry.  Mae,  in  turn,  sent 
her  love  to  the  happy  bride,  and  took  a  charm 
from  her  watch-chain  to  go  with  it,  a  tiny 
silver  boat,  and  she  sent  it  with  a  hope  that 
some  day  they  might  both  sail  over  to  America. 
At  which  the  bridegroom  shook  his  head  very 
decidedly,  and  kissed  Mae's  hand  and  bowed 
himself  out.  Then,  after  she  had  disrobed  her 
of  her  borrowed  plumes,  all  the  others  kissed 
her  hand  and  bowed  themselves  out,  and  Ro- 
berto and  Giovanni  awaked,  and  got  up  from 
the  corner,  and  stood  on  their  heads  and  hallooed 
as  loud  as  ever  they  pleased,  and  the  evening 
was  over,  and  Lisetta  and  the  padrona  and  the 
boys  and  Mae  were  alone. 

"Oh,  oh,  oh,"  cried  Mae,  "how  perfectly 
perfect.  Do  you  always  have  such  good  times 
as  this?" 

u  At  home,  yes,"  replied  Lisetta,  folding  her 
hands  and  smiling.  u  We  have  many  a  play- 
day  on  the  bay  of  Naples."  Then  she  roused 
herself:  "  Good  night,  Signorina,"  she  said, 
u  keep  your  ears  open." 

Mae  had  barely  reached  her  room  when  she 
appreciated  Lisetta's  last  words.  She  heard 


MAE  MADDEN.  121 

music  in  the  street  below.  She  raised  her  win- 
dow; Eric  and  Norman  lifted  the  parlor  window 
"at  the  same  moment.  "  Come  in  here,"  they 
cried.  So  in  she  ran,  took  a  place  between 
them,  and  they  silently  listened  to  the  maskers' 
serenade.  The  musicians  sang  at  first  the 
gayest  of  tunes,  but  suddenly,  by  some  sub- 
tile impulse,  they  changed  to  quieter  minor 
airs,  and  sang  songs  full  of  tears  and  passion 
and  love  and  tenderness.  Then  they  silently 
turned  to  go.  Norman  Mann  touched  Mae  on 
the  shoulder.  He  handed  her  a  bunch  of  Car- 
nival flowers.  They  were  Bero's,  but  she  flung 
them  unhesitatingly  into  the  street,  leaning  far 
out*to  watch  the  singers  catch  them  and  separ- 
ate them  in  the  moonlight.  They  called  out 
loud  their  thanks — their  "Grazie,  grazie"  as 
sweet  as  any  lily  just  broken  from  its  stem — 
and  as  they  turned  to  go  Mae  saw  that  each 
one  was  decked  with  a  sprig  from  the  bouquet, 
pulled  through  his  button-hole  or  the  riband 
of  his  hat. 

Only  the  tallest  musician,  who  walked  some- 
what apart,  carried  his  flower  tightly  clasped  in 
his  hand,  and  now  and  again  he  raised  it  to  his 
lips.  He  probably  dreamed  over  it  that  night, 
and  played  his  dream  out  in  a  gentle,  wistful, 


122  MAE  MADDEN. 

minor  adoration  before   the   Madonna  at   the 
Quattro  Fontane  the  next  morning. 

0,  the  dreams  and  poems  and  songs  without  * 
words  that  drop  into  our  lives  from  the  sudden 
flash  of  stranger  eyes,  or  the  accidental  touch  of 
an  unknown  hand,  or  the  tender  warmth  of  a 
swift  smile!  And  if  our  eyes,  our  touch,  our 
smiles  may  only  have  floated  off  in  like  manner — 
as  dreams  and  poems  and  melody  —  to  give 
added  rhythm  and  harmony  to  other  lives. 

Mae  drew  a  long  sigh,  one  of  those  delight- 
ful, contented  sighs,  with  a  smile  wrapped  up 
in  it.  u  I  am  glad  you  are  so  happy," 
said  Norman  Mann,  smiling  down  at  her. 
When  Norman  spoke  like  that  Mae  felt  only, 
0,  so  very  content.  She  quite  forgot  all 
grudges  against  him;  she  would  have  liked  just 
at  that  moment  to  have  the  world  stand 
quite  still.  This  was  very  different  from  the 
ordinary  Mae.  Usually  she  longed  that  it 
might  go  faster,  and  would  put  her  pink 
and  white  ear  quite  close  to  the  brown  earth  to 
hear  if  it  were  turning  as  swiftly  as  ever  it  could. 
UI  like  it  to  hurry,  hurry,  hurry,"  said  eager, 
restless  Mae.  "  I  love  to  live  quickly  and  see 
what's  coming  next." 

But  Mae  was  not  in  that   mood  to-night. 


MAE  MADDEN.  123 

She  leaned  out  of  the  window  all  untroubled. 
If  the  sun  could  stand  still  off  behind  the  world 
— as  he  is  now — and  the  moon  could  stand  still 
right  before  us — as  she  is  now — and  we  could 
stay  right  here,  we  three.  Why,  no,  Eric  has 
gone  in  and  is  walking  up  and  down  nerv- 
ously. Thus  Mae  thought,  and  was  quiet. 
u  What  are  you  thinking  about?1'  asked  Nor- 
man. She  told  him  naturally,  with  her  eyes 
on  his  until  she  reached  the  words  "  and  we/' 
Then  her  eyes  fell,  and  she  paused. 

u  Yes,"  replied  Norman,  "  I  have  the  same 
feeling,"  and  there  was  a  great  deal  more  on  the 
very  tippest  tip  of  his  tongue.  But  Mae  turned 
her  face  from  him  slightly;  the  moon  stole 
softly  behind  the  flimsiest  little  cloud  that  any 
one  could  have  seen  through,  and  he  paused, 
silly  fellow.  These  slight  withdrawals,  that 
should  have  urged  him  on,  deceived  him.  He 
stopped,  and  then  he  remembered  Mae's  past 
doings,  her  recklessness,  her  waywardness.  It 
was  not  time  yet  to  speak  what  he  had  in  his 
heart  to  say,  and  what  quivered  on  his  tongue. 
So  he  only  asked  abruptly:  kt  You  will  go  with 
me  to-morrow  night  for  one  of  your  gayest 
frolics,  will  you  not?  We  will  go  down  on 
the  Corso  for  all  the  Mocoletti  fun.  I  am 
8 


124  MAE  MADDEN. 

very  anxious  to  be  in  another  of  your  good 
times." 

U0,  would  you  like  it?"  said  Mae;  "I  am  so 
glad.  I  should  delight  in  it.  It  will  be 
almost  too  good."  She  stopped  abruptly 
again,  and  gave  him  a  quick,  soft  glance,  just 
as  the  moon  rode  triumphantly  out  from  behind 
the  filmy,  flimsy  veil,  and  shone  full  down  on 
her  eyes  and  hair.  It  fell  on  a  bright,  round, 
glistening  ball,  tucked  in  among  some  half 
curls  behind  her  ear.  "What  is  that?"  asked 
Norman. 

"  That  " — Mae  put  up  her  hand  and  drew  it 
out — "  that  is  my  stiletto.  I  forgot  to  give  it 
back  to  Lisetta.  It  is  pretty,  isn't  it?" 

Norman  took  the  long  needle  from  her  hand 
and  looked  at  it.  u  It  is  not  as  pretty  as  the 
flowered  stiletto.  Why  didn't  you  get  one  of 
those?" 

"  Wh}r,  do  you  not  know  that  those  are  not 
worn  by  free  maidens?  They  are  one  of  the 
added  glories  of  a  matron.  I  like  my  round, 
smooth  ball  a  great  deal  better.  It  means 
liberty."  And  she  plunged  the  steel  tremu- 
lously back  into  her  hair. 

"  We  had  better  go  in  now;  this  night  air  is 
bad  for  you,"  The  moon  blazed  scornfully 


MAE  MADDEN.  125 

down  on  Norman  Mann  as  he  said  this.  She 
had  had  a  wide  experience,  and  had  rarely  seen 
such  a  stupid,  cowardly  fellow,  so  she  thought. 
Yet,  after  all,  Norman  only  acted  in  self-de- 
fense. Here  was  a  girl  by  his  side  who  gloried, 
as  it  seemed  to  him,  in  her  freedom,  and  that 
being  so,  he  must  get  away  as  soon  as  possible 
from  that  window,  that  moon,  and  that  little 
girl. 

"  Well,  Norman,"  cried  Eric,  advancing 
eagerly  as  they  turned  from  the  window,  "  when 
do  you  really  suppose  it  will  come  off?" 

"  Suppose  what  will  come  off?1'  inquired  Mae. 

u  0,  I  forgot  you  were  here.  Well,  don't  tell 
any  one  else.  Norman  is  to  fight  a  duel.1' 

"  To  fight  a  duel— and  be  killed?"  gasped  Mae. 

14  You  have  but  a  poor  opinion  of  my  powers," 
laughed  Norman,  "  although  the  German  looked 
a  veteran  duellist  from  his  scars.  His  face  was 
fairly  embroidered  or  fancy-worked  with  red 
lines.  A  sort  of  hem  in  his  nose,  and  tucks 
and  seams  all  over  his  cheeks.  Notice  my 
knowledge  in  this  line,  Miss  Mae.  You  ought 
to  be  ashamed,  Eric,  to  have  spoken  of  it." 

u  Isn't  it  all  a  joke?"  asked  Mae,  pushing  her 
head  out  of  the  window  again,  to  hide  the  sud- 
den white  terror  in  her  face.  u  I  didn't  suppose 


126  MAE  MADDEN. 

Americans  fought  duels  when  they  were  off 
pleasuring."  This  sentence  Mae  meant  to  pass 
as  a  gay,  light,  easy  speech,  to  prove  that  Nor- 
man Mann  and  a  duel  were  not  such  a  very 
dreadful  combination  to  her  feminine  mind. 

"No,  it  is  no  joke,  but  dead  earnest,"  re- 
plied Eric.  u  I  am  to  be  his  second,  and  you 
must  keep  it  a  great  secret,  Mae,  till  it  is  all 
over" 

u  All  over!" — a  sudden  vision  of  Norman  lying 
white  and  motionless  with  a  deep  wound  across 
his  soft,  brown  temple.  Mae  closed  her  eyes. 
u  I  suppose  I  might  as  well  tell  you  about  it," 
said  Norman,  u  now  that  this  stupid  Eric  has  let 
out  about  the  affair,  although  it  may  never  come 
to  anything.  I  was  dining  to-night  at  a  little 
restaurant  on  the  Felice,  a  quiet,  homelike 
place,  which  a  good  many  artists,  and  especially 
women,  frequent.  There  is  a  queer,  crazy  little 
American,  who  thinks  herself  a  painter,  and 
is  a  harmless  lunatic,  who  is  a  regular  guest 
at  this  restaurant.  Everybody  smiles  at  her  ab- 
surdities, but  is  ready  enough  to  be  kind  to  the 
poor  old  creature.  To-night,  however,  I  was 
hardly  seated  when  in  came  a  party  of  Germans, 
all  in  mask  and  Carnival  costume.  One  of 
them  was  arrayed  in  exact  imitation  of  this  old 


MAM  MADDEN.  127 

lady.  He  had  on  a  peaked  bonnet  and  long, 
black  gloves,  with  dangling  fingers,  such  as  she 
invariably  wears.  These  he  waved  around 
mockingly  and  seating  himself  opposite  her,  he 
followed  her  every  motion.  The  ladies  at  the 
same  table  rose  and  went  away.  Then  up  gets 
this  big  ruffian  and  sits  down  on  the  edge  of  the 
old  lady's  chair.  I  could  stand  it  no  longer,  but 
jumping  in  front  of  him,  showered  down  all  the 
heavy  talk  I  knew  in  German,  Italian  and 
French,  subsiding  at  last  into  my  mother  tongue, 
with  her  appropriate  epithets.  Having  sense 
enough  left  to  know  that  he  could  not  reap  the 
full  benefit  of  English,  I  pulled  out  my  card, 
wrote  my  address  on  it,  and  threw  it  on  the 
table,  and  I  rather  think  that  was  understood. 
There's  no  country  that  I  have  heard  of  where, 
men  don't  know  what  k  we'll  fight  this  out, 
means."  Norman  was  striding  up  and  down 
the  room  now  almost  as  restlessly  as  Eric  had 
done,  but  he  seated  himself  again  as  Mae  asked 
for  the  rest. 

"  The  rest  is  very  simple,  Miss  Mae— mere 
business.  I  turned  to  go  away,  and  one  of  his 
friends  approached  me  to  ask  for  the  name  of 
my  second.  I  gave  Eric's  here.  He  bowed  and 
said:  lHe  shall  hear  from  me  this  evening,1 


128  MA&  MADDEN. 

and  I  came  home.  The  evening  has  advanced 
to  midnight,  but  not  a  word  yet.  No,  it  is  not 
quite  eleven,  I  see." 

"  You'll  have  the  choice  of  weapons  if  they 
challenge  you,"  said  Eric;  "you'll  take  pistols, 
I  suppose?  Just  think  of  my  living  to  really 
assist  in  a  l  pistols-and-eoffee-for-two '  affair!" 

"  I  daresay  it  will  be  coffee  for  two,  served 
separately,  and  with  no  thought  of  pistols.  I 
don't  really  believe  it  will  come  to  anything. 
There  are  ways  of  getting  out  of  it,'1  said  Nor- 
man, lighting  a  cigarette. 

"Will  you  refuse  to  fight?1'  asked  Mae,  and  her 
heart,  which  had  been  white  with  fear  for  Nor- 
man the  second  before,  flashed  now  with  quick, 
red  scorn.  Even  the  Huguenot  maiden  would, 
after  all,  have  despised  her  lover  if  he  had  quietly 
allowed  her  to  tie  the  white  handkerchief  to  his 
arm.  Believe  it,  she  loved  him  far,  far  better 
as  she  clung  to  him,  pressed  closely  to  his 
warm,  living  heart,  because  she  realized  in  an 
agony  that  his  honor  was  strong  enough  to 
burst  even  the  tender  bonds  of  her  dear  love, 
and  that  he  would  break  from  her  round  arms 
to  rush  into  that  ghostly,  ghastly  death-em- 
brace on  the  morrow,  at  the  dreadful  knell  of 
St.  Bartholomew  bells. 


MAE  MADDEN.  129 

Suppose  he  had  yielded.  Suppose  we  saw 
him  in  the  picture  standing  quietly,  unresist- 
ingly, as  her  soft  fingers  bound  the  white  badge, 
that  meant  protection  and  life,  to  his  arm. 
Would  not  she,  as  well  as  he,  have  known  that 
it  was  a  badge  of  cowardice,  and  that  he  wore 
a  heart  as  white  ? 

And  afterwards,  would  she  have  loved  the 
living  man,  breathing  in  air  heavy  with  the 
hearts'  life  of  his  brothers  and  friends,  as  she 
worshiped  the  dead  man,  whose  cold  body  rested 
forever  down  deep  in  mother  earth's  brown, 
soft  bosom,  but  whose  very  life  of  life  swelled 
the  great  throng  of  heroes  and  martyrs  who 
have  closed  their  own  eyes  upon  life's  pictures, 
that  those  pictures  might  shine  clearer  and 
brighter  to  other  eyes  ? 

If  the  man  had  yielded,  and  the  picture 
showed  him  thus,  would  we  see  the  Huguenot 
lovers  adorning  half  the  houses  of  the  land? 
Most  often  they  are  found  in  that  particular 
corner  of  the  home  belonging  to  some  maiden— 
that  sacred  room  of  her  own,  where  she  prays 
her  prayers,  and  lives  her  most  secret  life.  I 
have  often  wondered  at  the  many  girls  who 
hang  that  especial  picture  over  their  fire-places. 
It  must  be  a  case  of  unconscious  ideality. 


130 


They  realize  that  love  must  be  so  subject  to 
honor  that  heart-strings  would  break  for  the 
sake  of  that  honor,  if  need  be,  even  though 
the  harmonious  love-song  of  two  hearts  is 
hushed;  and  what  is  the  love-song  of  any  two 
beings  compared  to  a  life-song  of  honor  for  the 
world  —  those  wonderful  life-songs  that  we  all 
know?  One  of  them  sings  itself  so  loudly  to 
me  now,  over  ages  of  romance  and  history,  that 
I  must  let  my  simple  story  wait  and  give  way 
to  it  for  a  minute. 

There  was  a  man  who  lived  once.  If  God 
did  not  create  him,  Homer  did.  The  Oracle 
told  him  that  the  first  man  who  put  foot  on  the 
Trojan  shores  would  die.  He  knew  this  before 
he  started  on  his  voyage  for  Greece.  He  left  a 
wife  and  home  behind  him,  whom  he  dearly 
loved.  I  wonder  if  he  used  to  pace  the  deck  of 
the  rich  barge,  and  listen  to  the  men  chatting 
around  him,  and  smile  as  they  planned  of  re- 
turning, proud  and  victorious,  to  their  homes 
and  their  wives. 

All  the  while  under  his  smile  he  knew  he  was 
to  die,  not  in  the  glory  of  fight,  although  his 
sword  swung  sharp  and  bright  at  his  side,  not 
in  any  thrilling  fashion,  to  be  sung  of  and  wept 
of  by  his  fellows. 


MAfl  MADDEN.  Igl 

All  the  while  the  heavy  barge  sailed  on,  and 
at  last  land  came  in  sight.  <  I  wonder  if  his 
heart  was  full  when  he  saw  it?  Did  he  remem- 
ber his  wife  and  his  home  ?  Did  he  feel  his  life 
strong  within  him,  and  eager  as  a  battle-horse, 
as  he  neared  the  land  where  wars  were  to  be 
foughfc,  and  glories  won? 

All  the  while  his  heart  was  firm.  He  stood 
the  very  foremost  of  them  all,  as  they  drifted 
quite  in  to  the  green,  green  shore.  Around 
him  men  talked  and  laughed,  and  the  sun 
shone.  He  may  have  laid  his  hand  com- 
mandingly  on  some  youthful  shoulders  and 
pushed  back  the  eager  boy  who  longed  to 
bound  first  into  this  new  world.  He  may  have 
saved  him  thus  from  death  for  life.  We  do  not 
know. 

All  we  do  know  is,  that  with  his  own  brave 
feet  he  marched  ahead  of  them  all,  solemnly, 
smilingly,  with  the  oracle  in  his  heart.  From 
the  vessel  to  the  green,  green  shore  — such  a 
little  step.  He  leaps  from  the  Grecian  barge 
to  the  Trojan  land,  alive.  Does  he  turn  to  look 
at  his  comrades  and  off  eastwards,  beyond  home- 
wards, with  a  great  thrill  before  he  falls  dead  ? 
We  do  not  know. 

All  we  do  know  is,  that  we  thrill  now  as  we 


132  MAE  MADDEN. 

see  him  leaping  to  his  death,  even  over  this  gap 
of  ages,  through  these  shadows  of  unreality. 

We  have  left  Mae  flashing  scorn  at  Norman 
for  a  long  while,  a  much  longer  while  than 
she  really  needed  for  her  flash,  for  Norman's 
angry  start,  violent  exclamation,  and  indignant 
glance  convinced  her  of  her  mistake  before  he 
answered  her. 

u  I  refuse  to  fight  —  I  — Great  —  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Miss  Mae,  but  of  course  I'll  fight.  I 
only  hope  the  fellow  isn't  such  a  craven  as  to 
let  it  blow  over.  ^However,  I  strongly  suspect 
policy  and  his  friends  will  keep  him  from  it. 
For  my  part,  I  would  like  to  break:  my  lance 
for  the  poor  woman.  Any  good  blow  struck  for 
the  fair  thing,  helps  old  Mother  Earth  a  bit,  I 
suppose." 

u  That's  your  idea  of  life?"  queried  Eric, 
rather  gravely.  u  My  efforts  are  all  to  push 
Eric  Madden  on  his  way  a  bit." 

"  And  I  haven't  any  idea;  I  just  live,"  said 
Mae,  u  like  a  black  and  tan  dog.  I  wish  I  were 
one.  Then  the  only  disagreeable  part  of  me, 
my  conscience,  would  be  out  of  the  way.  But 
what  has  all  this  to  do  with  the  duel?"  "  That 
has  something  to  do  with  it,  I  fancy,"  said  Eric, 
rising  and  leaving  the  room  hastily,  as  the  bell 


MAE  MADDEN.  133 

rang.  u  No,  stay  where  you  are.  I'll  receive 
him  in  the  little  salon."  Mae  rose  and  walked 
to  the  fireside,  and  looked  down  on  the  two 
small  logs  of  wet  wood  that  sizzled  on  the  fire- 
dogs.  The  faint,  red  flame  that  flickered 
around  them,  looked  sullen  and  revengeful, 
she  thought,  as  she  watched  the  feeble  blaze 
intently.  It  seemed  hours  since  Eric  had  left 
the  room.  What  was  Norman  thinking?  What 
was  the  stranger  saying  out  in  the  little  salon? 
No,  no,  she  would  not  think  thus.  She  would 
repeat  something  to  quiet  herself — poetry  — 
what  should  it  be?  Ah,  here  is  Eric. 

It  was  Eric.  His  face  was  flushed.  His  lip 
curled.  "Coward!  craven!1'  he  exclaimed, 
u  Coward,  craven." 

u  Well,  tell  us  about  it,"  said  Norman,  coolly, 
but  a  wave  of  color  rushed  over  his  face. 

"  0,  palaver  and  stuff.  Somebody's  dread- 
fully ill  —  dying,  I  believe,  and  that  somebody 
is  wife,  or  mother,  or  son  to,  this  brute  you 
challenged.  He's  got  to  go,  the  coward.  If 
you  are  ever  in  his  vicinity  again,  and  send  him 
your  card,  he  will  understand  it  and  meet  you 
at  such  place  and  with  such  weapons  as  you 
prefer.  Bah  —  too  thin!"  and  Eric  concluded 
with  this  emphatic  statement. 


13J.  MA&  MADDflN. 

Mae  leaned  her  head  against  her  two  clasped 
hands  which  rested  on  the  mantel-piece.  How 
strangely  everything  looked;  even  the  dim  fire 
had  a  sort  of  aureole  about  it,  as  her  eyes  rested 
there  again ;  but  when  one  looks  through  tears, 
all  things  are  haloed  mistily.  Norman  turned 
and  looked  at  Mae,  as  Eric  walked  impatiently 
about.  She  did  not  move  or  speak.  He  walked 
to  her  side,  and  stood  looking  down  at  her. 
The  faint  mist  in  her  left  eye  was  forming  into 
a  bright,  clear  globe  as  large  as  any  April  rain- 
drop. Mae  knew  this,  and  knew  it  would 
fall,  unless  she  put  up  her  hand  and  brushed 
it  away,  and  that  would  be  worse.  The 
color  rose  to  her  cheeks  as  she  waited  the 
dreadful  moment.  She  was  perfectly  still, 
her  hands  clasped  before  her,  her  head  bent, 
as  the  crystal  drop  gathered  all  the  mist 
and  halo  in  its  full,  round  embrace,  and  pattered 
down  upon  the  third  finger  of  her  left  hand  — 
her  wedding-ring  finger  —  and  lay  there,  clear 
and  sparkling  as  a  diamond! 

Norman  Mann  stooped  and  laid  his  hand  over 
it.  "  You  are  glad,  then!"  "  I  should  be  sorry 
to  have  you  die,"  said  Mae,  but  her  dimples  and 
blushes  and  drooping  eye-lids  said,  oh,  a  great 
deal  more.  "  Good  night."  she  fluttered,  and 
ran  off. 


CHAPTER  X. 

AE  dreamed  happy  dreams  that  night, 
and  awoke  with  a  smile  on  her  lips. 
She  dressed  with  the  greatest  care,  put 
a  touch  of  the  color  Norman  liked  at 
her  throat,  and  fastened  a  charm  he  had  given 
her  to  her  bracelet.  Still,  she  loitered  on  her 
way  to  the  breakfast-room,  and  when  she  seated 
herself  at  the  table,  a  sudden  embarrassment 
made  her  keep  her  eyes  on  her  plate,  or  talk  to 
Eric,  or  Edith,  or  any  one  but  Norman.  Yet 
she  was  perfectly  conscious  of  his  every  word 
and  motion.  She  knew  he  only  took  two  cups 
of  coffee  instead  of  three,  and  that  he  helped 
her  to  mandarins — a  fruit  of  which  she  was  very 
fond — five  times,  so  that  she  had  a  plate  heaping 
with  golden  untouched  balls  before  her.  After 
breakfast,  she  felt  a  great  desire  to  run  away,  so 
she  asked  Eric  to  take  her  to  the  Capitol,  and 
leave  her  there  for  a  time.  "  I  want  to  see  some- 
thing solid  this  morning,  that  has  lasted  a  long 
while,  and  the  marbles  will  do  me  good.1' 

Yes,  Eric  would  take  her    at  once.     Would 
she  go  and  get  her  hat?     She  went  for  it,  and 


136  MAE  MADDEN. 

scolded  herself  all  the  time  for  running  away 
when  she  wanted  to  stay  home.  Yet,  after  all, 
who  dares  put  out  one's  hand  to  grasp  the  moon 
when  at  last  it  approaches  ?  No  woman,  at  any 
rate. 

There  was  a  malicious  sort  of  teasing  pleasure 
in  running  away  from  Norman,  mingled  with  a 
shrinking  modesty;  and,  besides,  he  knew  the 
way  to  the  Capitol,  if  he  chose  to  follow,  and 
knew  she  was  to  be  there  alone.  So,  on  the 
whole,  Mae  went  off  with  a  blissful  heart. 

As  she  sat  down  in  that  celebrated  room,  im- 
mortalized by  the  Gladiator,  the  Faun  and  the 
Antinous,  scales  seemed  to  fall  from  her  eyes  and 
a  weight  from  her  heart.  Life  meant  something 
more  than  the  mere  play  she  delighted  in,  or  the 
labor  she  despised.  She  took  it  in  in  this  way. 
She  realized,  first  of  all,  the  enduringness  of  the 
marbles.  They  had  stood,  they  will  stand,  for 
thousands  of  years.  What  have  stood?  What 
will  stand?  Idle  blocks  of  stone,  without  form 
or  meaning,  or  simply  three  beautiful  shapes? 
No;  three  souls,  thinks  Mae,  three  real  people, 
and  she  looks  at  the  abiding  faun,  freedom  and 
joy  of  the  Satyr,  the  continual  sentimental  sad- 
ness of  the  Antinous,  and  the  perpetual  brave 
death-struggle  of  the  Gladiator.  They  are  living 


MAE  MADDEN.  137 

on  now,  and  touching  our  hearts.  Their  mute 
lips  open  other  eloquent  mouths  to  speak  for 
them.  Hawthorne  and  Byron  tell  us  what  the 
Faun's  soul,  what  the  Gladiator's  soul,  look 
from  the  white  marbles  to  us,  and  the  world 
daily  repeats  the  story  the  Antinous  whispers  in 
his  bent,  beautiful  head,  the  vanitas  vanitatum 
that  our  own  hearts  whisper,  when  we  drop 
earnest  life  for  voluptuous  pleasures. 

The  Faun  may  smile,  although  life  is  only 
one  long  play-day  in  green  fields  and  woods, 
because  he  is  a  Faun.  The  man  must  sigh, 
when  he  has  drained  his  wine-cups  and  laughed 
his  heartiest  laugh,  and  wakes  to  another  morn- 
ing, because  he  is  a  man.  The  cry  of  humanity 
echoes  in  our  souls.  We  cannot  stifle  it;  we 
may  hush  it,  and  follow  our  idle  joys,  but  the 
day  comes  when  we  bend  our  head  with  Anti- 
nous  and  Solomon  and  the  rest  of  them,  and 
sigh  out  our  vanitas,  vanitas  also,  in  the  great 
weary  chorus. 

No  need,  alas!  for  a  Hawthorne,' or  Byron,  or 
even  a  Shakspeare  to  interpret  what  the  Anti- 
nous  says  for  us.  Our  own  hearts  do  it. 

Mae  caught  the  spirit  of  all  this,  as  her  eyes 
roamed  out  of  the  window  on  the  Sabine  hills, 
where  woods  and  springs  sang.  She  saw  the 


138  MAE  MADDEN. 

aqueducts  bounding,  even  in  their  ruin,  arch 
after  arch,  to  the  treasure  house  of  the  waters. 
"They  never  can  reach  it,  now,"  thinks  she, 
u  never.  Suppose  they  cannot,  is  not  the  spirit  the 
same?"  And  now  Mae  is  ready  for  the  sudden 
light  that  dawns  on  her  soul.  She  springs  to 
her  feet.  She  is  alone  in  the  room  with  the 
marble  men;  and  they  are  quiet;  even  the  Gladi- 
ator bites  back  his  last  groan  once  more. 

uThe  Eternal  City,"  shouts  Mae;  "I  know 
what  it  means  at  last.  Oh !  Rome,  Rome,  I  love 
you  !"  and  she  rests  her  hand  on  the  window- 
sill,  and  looks  out  on  Rome.  "  Why,  it  is  like 
a  resurrection  morn.  Ruins?  Yes,  it  is  all 
ruins,  dry  bones,  and  great  dead  in  dust  ;  but 
there  is  something  more.  I  only  saw  that  grave- 
yard part  of  it  before;  now,  the  spirit  of  the  great 
men,  arid  great  deeds,  and  words,  and  thoughts, 
and  prayers,"  cries  Mae,  exultantly.  "  Why, 
they  are  here;  not  dead,  like  the  rest,  but  alive, 
all  around  us.  Oh!  Rome,  Rome,  forgive  me  !" 

Now,  this  might  have  seemed  absurd  to  the 
custode,  or  some  other  people,  if  they  had  put 
their  head  in  at  the  door  just  then.  But  they 
didn't;  and,  really,  it  was  not  absurd.  I  cannot 
believe  that  this  small  Mae  Madden  is  the  only 
being  who  has  had  a  swift,  brilliant  awakening 


MAE  MADDEN.  139 

from  the  first  surface,  depressing  thoughts  of 
Rome — an  awakening  to  the  living  spirits  which 
float  proudly  over  their  vacant  shells  that  lie 
below  the  old  pavements.  Once  you  do  feel 
the  strong,  rich  Roman  life  about  you,  the 
decay,  the  ruin  float  off  on  the  dust  of  the 
ages,  before  t  the  glorified  breath  of  proud 
matrons  and  stately  warriors,  who  step 
over  the  centuries  to  walk  by  your  side. 
And  the  centuries  have  improved  them, — have 
left  their  grandeur,  and  nobility,  and  bravery, 
and  civilized  them  a  bit.  They  form  into  pag- 
eants for  you,  and  fill  the  baths  and  the  pal- 
aces, but  never  crowd  the  Coliseum  for  the 
dreadful  contests,  unless,  maybe,  for  an  occasional 
bull-fight — some  great,  horrid,  big  bull  which 
would  be  killed  at  market  to-morrow  ab  any  rate 
— and  even  that  is  as  you  please.  It  is  won- 
derful, truly,  once  we  discern  the  spirits  around 
us,  to  notice  what  a  miraculous  place  Rome  ifey 
how  the  intervening  years  of  purgatorial  flames 
have  turned  old  Nero  himself  into  a  fairly 
benevolent,  soft  old  gentleman,  even  though  his 
estates  have  crumbled  to  such  an  extent  that  he 
may  put  his  golden  palace  into  the  head  of  his 
cane,  which  he  always  carries  now,  since  his  char- 
iots have  gone  away.  Where  are  they  ?  Caligula 
9 


140  MAE  MADDEN. 

has  even  made  it  up  with  his  mother-in-law, 
and  you  reflect  with  joy  on  that  fact,  as  the  two 
flit  by  your  mind's  eye,  hand  in  hand.  All  this 
nonsense  is  for  those  of  us  who  have  awakenings. 
The  rest  of  "  our  party  "  may  sit  at  Spillman's 
and  eat  coffee-cakes  and  sip  Lachrym.86  Christi, 
while  we  walk  alone  through  the  Coliseum,  with 
the  crowd  of  old  heathen.  They  stop,  every  one, 
at  the  iron  cross  in  the  middle,  reared  over  their 
carnage  and  mad  mirth,  and  press  their  lips  to 
it  now.  The  centuries  have  done  that.  We 
only,  alas!  stand  gazing  mournfully,  doubtingly. 
"  Will  you  have  another  coffee-cake?"  says  some 
one,  and  we  remember  that  we  are  at  Spill- 
man's  also.  And,  indeed,  we  might  be  more 
sensible  to  stay  with  our  party  always;  eat 
cakes,  drink  wine,  laugh  at  the  old  world,  vaunt 
the  new,  read  Baedeker  and  the  Bible,  say  our 
orthodox  Protestant  prayers,  with  a  special 
"  Lead  us  not  into  Romanism"  codicil,  and  go  to 
becl,  and  dream  of  our  own  golden  houses,  Paris 
dresses,  and  fat  letters  of  credit. 

At  any  rate,  Mae  Madden  was  electrified  by  a 
great  sudden  sweep  of  love,  a  surging  rush  of 
reverence  for  Rome,  and  makes  no  doubt  in  her 
own  mind,  to  this  day,  that  the  Faun  laughed 
with  her  in  her  joy.  In  this  exalted  frame  of 


MAE  MADDEN.  141 

mind,  she  wandered  down  through  the  long 
halls.  She  was  passing  from  the  room  of  the 
Caesars  when  she  heard  Norman's  voice.  So 
he  had  come  for  her  with  Eric.  She  had  half 
fancied  he  would.  She  paused  to  listen.  It 
was  a  ringing  elastic  voice,  in  no  wise  lagging 
in  speech,  with  a  certain  measurement  in  its 
tones,  as  if  he  weighed  his  words  and  thoughts, 
and  gave  them  out  generously,  pound  for  pound, 
a  fair  measure  which  our  grandmother's  recipes 
approved.  Mae  smiled  to  herself.  "  He  has 
loved  Rome  always.  He  caught  the  spirit  of  it 
long  ago.  He  will  be  glad  to  know  I  have 
found  it  also.  I  wish " — and  Mae  sighed  a 
scrap  of  a  sigh,  and  looked  down  at  the  toe  of 
her  boot,  with  which  she  drew  little  semi-circles 
before  her. 

Mae  was  truly  in  a  very  tender  mood  to-day. 
I  think  if  Norman  had  caught  sight  of  her  face 
at  that  moment,  he  would  have  sent  Eric  off,  and 
right  there  and  then,  before  all  the  Caesars — why 
what  is  the  matter?  The  face  contracts  as  if  in 
pain.  What  was  the  cause  ?  She  had  heard  Nor- 
man say,  "  I'm  afraid  I  was  wrong,  but  I  never 
meant  anything  by  my  attentions  to  the  girl, 
Eric.  It  was  really  on  your  account.  I  never 
liked  Miss  Rae  particularly.  I  was  thrown 


142  MAE  MADDEN. 

much  with  her  because  you  and  I  have  been  to- 
gether constantly,  but  she  does  not  grow  on  me. 
I  never  expected  you  should  consider  me  as  her 
necessary  cavalier  always.  As  for  this  evening, 
I  am  engaged  to  Miss  Mae,  so  that  settles  this 
matter,  but  I  wish  that  hereafter  you  would  not 
get  me  into  such  scrapes.1' 

Poor  Mae !  she  leaned  against  Nero — or  was  it 
Caracalla? — surely  somebody  very  hard  and  cold 
and  cruel, — and  stopped  breathing  for  a  mo- 
ment. For  she  had  heard  wrong,  had  misunder- 
stood Miss  Rae  for  Miss  Mae,  and  supposed  it 
was  of  herself  that  he  spoke.  Her  heart  stood 
still  for  the  minutest  part  of  a  minute.  Then 
she  turned  softly  and  quickly,  went  back  to  the 
Gladiator's  room,  left  word  with  the  custode  for 
Eric  that  she  wasn't  well,  and  had  gone  home 
alone,  walked  off  down  the  Capitol  steps,  took 
a  cab  and  drove  away. 

At  home  she  had  a  long,  earnest  talk  with 
Lisetta,  after  which  Lisetta  had  a  short,  brisk 
talk  with  the  padrona.  "It  means  money,"  she 
said,  "  and  I  can  play  I  did  it  for  the  Signorina's 
safety."  Later,  Mae  wrote  a  brief,  polite  note 
to  Norman  Mann.  She  was  ill,  had  gone  to  bed, 
and  wouldn't  be  able  to  go  to  the  Corso  with  him 
to-night.  She  tried  to  stifle  the  hot  anger  and 


MAE  MABVEN.  143 

other  emotions  out  of  the  words,  and  read  and 
re-read  them  to  assure  herself  that  they  were  per- 
fectly easy,  natural,  and  polite.  At  last  she  tore 
them  up  and  sent  this  instead: 

MY  DEAR  MR.  MANN: — Such  a  pity  that  we  are  not 
to  have  our  fun,  after  all.  Yet,  perhaps  it  is  just  as 
well.  I  should  be  very  speedily  without  my  light,  and 
the  cry  of  "  senza  moccolo,  senza  moccolo"  must  be  very 
dispiriting.  Have  a  good  time  right  along.  Good-bye 
— good-bye. 

Of  course,  if  Mae  had  not  been  beside  herself 
with  conflicting  emotions,  she  would  never  have 
sent  this  note,  or  repeated  the  good-bye  in  that 
echoing,  departing  sort  of  way.  Norman  Mann 
knit  his  brow  as  he  read  it.  u  What  is  the  row 
now?"  he  thought.  u  What  a  child  it  is,  any- 
way. She  has  had  the  mocoletii  fun  in  her  mind 
since  we  left  America,  and  now  she  throws  it 
away.  Well,  there's  no  help  for  it;  I'm 
booked  for  Miss  Rae.  I'll  get  Eric  to  see  if  Mae's 
really  ill.  I  wonder  if  she's  afraid  of  me,  be- 
cause she  cried  last  night,  afraid  I  took  that 
big  tear  for  more  than  it  was  worth. 

"  Mae,"  said  Eric,  entering  her  room  an  hour 
later,  "  Norman  feels  dreadfully  that  you  are 
not  able  to  go  to-night,  and  so  do  I.  I  sup- 
pose those  wretched  marbles  did  it  this  morning. 
Couldn't  you  possibly  come?" 


MADDEN. 


"  No,"  replied  M-ae,  rising  on  her  elbow,  "  but 
sit  down  a  moment,  Eric." 

"  How  pretty  you  look/'  said  her  brother, 
seating  himself  by  her  side.  Mae's  hair  was 
tumbled  in  brown  waves  that  looked  as  if  they 
couldn't  quite  make  up  their  minds  to  curl, 
much  as  they  wanted  to  ;  her  eyes  shone 
strangely;  and  the  little  scarlet  shawl  that  she 
had  drawn  over  her  head  and  shoulders  was  no 
brighter  than  her  flushed  cheeks.  She  smiled 
at  her  brother,  but  said  hurriedly:  uTell  me  of 
your  plans  for  to-night.  I  suppose  you  and 
Mr.  Mann  are  going  with  your  new  friends." 

"  Yes,  Norman  will  go  with  me  and  the  girls, 
but  he  does  it  with  a  bad  enough  grace.  He's 
dreadfully  tired  of  Miss  Rae;  and,  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  Mae,  she  is  rather  namby-pamby  — 
very  different  from  Miss  Hopkins,  and  then,  be- 
sides, he  had  so  set  his  heart  on  going  with 
you  to-night." 

"0,  yes,"  said  Mae,  scornfully,  and  bit  her 
lips. 

"  Why,  Mae,  what  is  the  matter  with  you? 
You  seem  to  doubt  every  one  and  everything. 
You  know  Norman  is  truth  itself."  "Is  he?" 
asked  Mae,  indifferently. 

u  I've  seen  for  a  long  time,"  continued  Eric, 


MAE  MADDEN. 


"  that  you  two  were  not  the  friends  you  onee 
were,  but  I  don't  understand  this  open  dislike. 
Doesn't  it  spoil  your  pleasure?  You  don't  seem 
to  have  the  real  old-fashioned  good  times,  my 
little  girl,"  and  Eric  pulled  his  clumsy  dear 
hand  through  a  twist  of  the  brown  hair  caress- 
ingly. 

"  0,  Eric,"  cried  Mae,  u  that  is  like  old  times 
again,"  and  a  tear  splattered  down  into  the  big 
hand.  "What,  crying,  Mae?"  "  No,  dear  — 
that  is,  yes.  I  believe  I  am  a  little  bit  homesick. 
I  wish  I  could  go  back  behind  my  teens  again. 
Do  you  remember  the  summer  that  I  was 
twelve  —  that  summer  up  by  the  lake?  I  wish 
you  and  I  could  paddle  around  in  one  of  the  old 
flat-bottomed  tubs  once  more,  don't  you,  Eric? 
We'd  go  for  lilies  and  fish  for  minnows  —  that 
is,  we'd  fish  for  perch  and  catch  the  minnows— 
and  talk  about  when  you  should  go  to  college 
and  pull  in  the  race,  and  I  should  wear  a  long 
dress  and  learn  all  the  college  tunes  to  sing 
with  you  and  your  Yale  friends.  Do  you  re- 
member, Eric?  And  now,  0  dear  me,  you  lost 
your  race,  and  I  hate  my  long  gowns.  0  — 
my  —  dear  —  brother  —  do  you  like  it  all  as  well 
as  you  thought  you  would?" 

"  Why,  Mae,  you  poor  little  tot,  you're  senti- 


146  MAfl  MADDEN'. 

mental — for  you.  Yes,  I  like  the  future  as  well 
as  I  always  did.  I  never  gave  much  for  the 
present,  at  any  rate." 

uBut  I  did,  Eric;  I  always  did,  till  just  now, 
and  now  I  hate  it,  and  I'm  afraid  of  the 
future,  and  I'd  like  to  grow  backwards,  vand  in- 
stead, in  a  month,  I'll  have  another  birth-day, 
and  go  into  those  dreadful  twenties."  Then 
Mae  was  quiet  a  moment.  "  Eric,  I  was  senti- 
mental," she  said,  after  a  pause.  u  Really,  I  do 
like  the  future  ver}7  much.  I  quite  forgot  how 
much  for  the  moment." 

"  You're  a  strange  child,  indeed,"  replied 
Eric,  the  puzzled.  "  Your  words  are  like  light- 
ning. I  had  just  got  melted  down  and  ready 
to  reply  to  your  reminiscences  by  lots  of  others, 
and  here  you  are  all  jolly  and  matter-of-fact 
again.  I  was  growing  so  dreadfully  unselfish 
that  I  should  have  insisted  on  staying  home 
with  you  this  evening  to  cheer  you  up  a  bit." 

u  And  give  up  the  mocoletti!  Why,  Eric! 
I  sEouldn't  have  known  how  to  take  such  an 
offer.  No,  no,  trot  off  and  array  yourself,  and 
you  may  come  back  and  say  good-bye." 

u  I  must  say  good-bye  now,  dear,  for  I  dine  at 
the  Costanzi  with  the  girls  and  their  aunt." 

"  Now,  just  now,  Eric?" 


MAE  MAbDEtf*  147 

u  Why  yes,  Mae.  You  are  getting  blue  again, 
aren't  you?  Getting  ready  for  Ash  Wednesday 
to-morrow?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  dear.  Kiss  me,  Eric,  again. 
You're  a  good,  dear  boy.  No;  I  didn't  cry  that 
drop  at  all.  Good-bye;  and  to-morrow  is  Ash 
Wednesday.  But  we  don't  sorrow  or  fast  in 
Paradise,  I  suppose." 


CHAPTER  XL 

HE  Corso  was  all  ablaze.  The  whole 
world  was  there.  Under  a  balcony 
stood  a  party  of  peasants.  Of  this 
group,  two  were  somewhat  aside. 
One  of  these  was  tall,  dark,  a  fair  type"  of  South- 
ern Italian;  the  other  small,  agile  and  graceful, 
dressed  in  a  fresh  contadina  costume,  with  her 
brown  hair  braided  down  her  shoulders.  She 
seemed  excited,  and  as  the  crowd  pressed  nearer 
she  would  draw  back  half-fearfully.  "  Lisetta," 
she  whispered,  "  I  am  spoiling  your  good  time. 
Talk  to  your  friends;  never  mind  me.  I  will 
follow  by  your  side,  and  soon  I  shall  catch  the 
spirit  of  it  all,  too."  Saying  this,  she  stepped 
from  under  the  balcony,  held  out  her  feeble 
little  taper  and  joined  in  the  cries  around  her, 
pausing  to  blow  at  any  lowered  bit  of  wax  that 
came  in  her  way.  It  was  maddening  sport; 
her  light  was  extinguished  again  and  again,  but 
she  would  plead  to  have  it  relit,  and  there  was 
sure  to  be  some  tender-hearted,  kindly  knight  at 
hand  to  help  her. 

She  ran  on  quickly,  fearlessly,  gliding   and 


MAE  MADDEN.  149 

creeping  and  sliding  through  the  crowd,  her 
hair  flying,  her  eyes  dancing.  Even  in  the 
dense  throng  many  turned  'to  look  at  her,  and 
one  tall  man  started  suddenly  from  the  shadow 
of  a  side  street,  where  he  had  been  standing 
motionless,  and  threw  himself  before  the  girl. 
He  put  out  his  arm,  grasped  her  tightly,  and 
drew  her  a  few  feet  into  the  shadow.  "  Sig- 
norina!" he  said.  "  Hush,  hush,"  she  whis- 
pered then  in  colder  tones.  "  Let  me  go,  Signor ; 
you  are  mistaken.  You  do  not  know  me.'1 
He  smiled  quietly,  holding  her  hands  clasped  in 
his.  "  I  do  not  know  you,  Signorina?  You  do 
not  know  me.  Your  face  is  the  picture  always 
before  my  eyes." 

"  Yes,  yes,  forgive  me,"  she  fluttered,  "  I  was 
startled,  and  indeed  I  am  no  Signorina  now, 
but  one  of  your  own  country  peasants.  I  am 
with  Lisetta.  Why,  where  is  Lisetta?  " 

Where,  indeed,  was  she?  There  were  hun- 
dreds of  contadine  in  the  great  crowd  surging 
by,  but  no  Lisetta.  The  little  peasant  wrung 
her  hands  quite  free  from  the  man's  grasp. 
"  I  must  go  home,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  want 
any  more  Carnival." 

"No,  no,"  said  the  officer,  quietly,  reassur- 
ingly. "  Get  cool.  Tell  me  how  Lisetta  looks 


150  MAR  MADDEN. 

and  is  dressed,  and  if  we  can  not  find  her  here, 
I  will  take  you  up  to  your  friend's  balcony." 

"  0,  no,  not  there.  Anywhere  else,  but  not 
there." 

"  Why  not?"  asked  Bero. 

u  Because,  because, — yes,  I  will  tell  you,"  said 
Mae,  remembering  her  wrongs,  and  suddenly 
moved  by  the  sympathy  and  softness  of  the  great 
eyes  above  her, — "  because  they  think  I  am  home 
ill,  and  here  I  am,  you  see,"  and  she  laughed 
a  little  hurriedly, — "  besides,  I  go  away  with  Li- 
setta  to-morrow  morning,  —  hush,  let  no  one 
hear, — to  Sorrento.  You  must  never,  never  tell. 
How  do  I  look?  Will  I  make  a  good  peasant, 
when  once  the  dear  sun  has  browned  my  hands 
and  forehead,  and  I  have  grown  Italianized?" 
And  she  lifted  her  face,  into  which  the  saucy 
gaiety  had  returned,  up  to  him  temptingly. 

His  warm  blood  was  kindled.  "  You  are  a 
little  child  of  the  sun-god  now,"  he  exclaimed, 
passionately.  "  May  I  share  some  of  your 
days  in  heaven?  I  am  ordered  to  Naples  to- 
morrow night;  shall  be  only  twelve  hours  be- 
hind you.  May  I  come  on  the  day  after  to  see 
you  in  your  new  home?  " 

'l  0,  how  delightful!  But,  perhaps,  my  lord, 
our  little  cottage  by  the  sea  isn't  grand  enough 


MAE  MADDEN.  151 

for  your  spurs  and  buttons  and  glory.  We  are 
simple  folks  you  know, — peasants  all, — but  our 
hearts,  Signor,  they  are  hospitable,  and  such  as 
we  have  we  will  gladly  give  you.  What  do  you 
say  to  the  bay  of  Naples,  and  oranges  for  our 
luncheon  day  after  to-morrow?"  And  Mae 
laughed  lightly  and  joyously.  Her  little  burnt 
taper  fell  to  the  ground,  and  she  clasped  her 
hands  together.  u  What  a  happy  thing  life 
will  be!" 

u  Will  you  live  there  and  be  a  peasant  for- 
ever?" asked  Bero,  leaning  forward.  u  There 
are  villas  by  the  sea,  too,  Signorina." 

Mae  didn't  hear  these  last  words.  Her  heart 
had  stood  still  on  that  u  forever."  Live  there  for- 
ever, forever,  and  never  see  her  mother  or 
Eric,  or, — or  any  one  again!  u  I  hadn't  thought 
of  that,"  she  said,  u  I  hadn't  thought  of  that." 
She  stood  still  with  her  hands  clasped,  thinking. 
The  officer  at  her  side,  looking  down  at  her, 
was  thinking  also.  He  was  fighting  a  slight 
mental  struggle,  a  sort  of  combat  he  was  quite 
unused  to.  Should  he  let  the  child  go  on  in 
this  wild  freak?  He  knew  the  cottage  by  the 
sea;  the  peasant  home  would  be  dreadful  to  her. 
He  knew  that  by  that  same  day  after  to-morrow, 
life  in  lower  Italy,  with  the  dirty,  coarse  people 


152  ***  MADDEN. 

about  her  would  be  a  burden.  Yet  he  hesitated. 
He  fought  the  battle  in  this  way :  Should  he  not 
stand  a  better  chance  if  he  let  her  go?  He 
had  his  leave  of  absence  for  three  weeks  (this 
was  true;  "ordered  to  Naples,"  he  had  called  it 
to  Mae).  Three  weeks  away  from ,  his  world, 
near  this  winsome,  strange,  magnetic  little  be- 
ing, with  the  bay  of  Naples,  arid  moonlight,  and 
his  own  glories  and  her  loveliness !  He  couldn't 
give  up  this  chance.  No,  no.  He  would  surely 
see  her  in  a  few  hours  after  her  troubles  began, 
and  comfort  her.  So  he  only  smiled  quietly 
down  at  her  again,  as  she  stood  troubled  by  his 
side,  and  said:  uLisetta  will  seek  you  near  your 
balcony  if  she  knows  where  it  is.  Don't  be 
troubled." 

u  But   where   is   my  balcony?"   asked    Mae. 

u  Come  here,"  said  Bero,  leading  her  slightly 
forward.  She  looked  up  and  saw  the  quiet  side- 
window,  where  day  after  day  the  officer  had 
flung  her  the  sweet  flowers  when  no  one  was 
looking.  "  I  know  this  place  very  well,"  he 
said  meaningly.  Mae  smiled  a  little  cheerfully. 
u§You  have  beautiful  taste,"  she  replied,  "I 
have  never  seen  such  exquisite  bouquets  before." 

Bero  stroked  his  moustaches  complacently. 
"  You  honor  me,  Signorina.  I  hope  you  may 


MAE  MADDEN.  153 

receive  many,  many  more  beautiful  flowers  — 
from  the  same  hand."  He  whispered  these  last 
words,  and  Mae  turned  her  head  half  uneasily. 
She  looked  up  at  the  balcony.  How  odd  it  was 
that  there,  but  a  few  feet  away,  were  Mrs.  Jer- 
rold,  Edith,  and  Albert.  She  fancied  she  could 
detect  their  voices,  though  she  could  not  see 
them.  The  Hopkins-Rae  window  was  vacated. 
u  The  girls  "  were  probably  down  on  the  Corso 
with  Eric  and  Norman,  and  Mae  drew  a  little 
nearer  to  Bero,  and  looked  up  half  appealingly. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  strangely  on  something  or 
some  one  across  the  street.  Mae  followed  their 
gaze,  and  saw  upon  the  opposite  balcony  the 
beautiful  veiled  lady.  She  held  in  her  hand  a 
long  rod  tipped  with  a  blazing  taper. 

"  0,  she  is  like  a  vestal  virgin  with  her  light, 
or  a  queen  with  a  sceptre,'1  cried  Mae  exultingly. 

u  She  may  be  the  vestal  virgin,  but  the  queen 
is  by  my  side,"  said  Bero  earnestly. 

Mae  wished  he  would  not  talk  in  this  way, 
and  she  tried  to  laugh  it  off.  "  I  have  no  scep- 
tre or  crown ;  I'm  but  a  poor  queen  in  my  com- 
mon garb." 

"  We'll  have  the  coronation  day  after  to-mor- 
row," replied  Bero,  very  earnestly  still. 

"  Tell  me  about  her,"  and  Mae  nodded  her 


154  MAE  MADDEN. 

head  toward  the  strange  lady.  "  There  is  little 
to  tell,"  said  Bero,  in  a  quiet  tone.  uHer  brother 
is  well  known  in  Rome  as  an  artist.  He  lives 
there  with  his  sister  and  an  old  duenna.  She 
wears  this  mysterious  veil  constantly,  and  some 
fanciful  people  see  just  as  mysterious  a  cloud 
resting  about  her  life.  I  only  know  she  is 
strange  and  beautiful,  and  that  her  name  is 
Lillia." 

Yet  Bero  had  seen  this  woman  almost  daily 
for  six  months.  But  he  only  knew  she  was 
strange  and  beautiful,  and  that  her  name  was 
Lillia. 

Mae  had  never  spoken  to  the  veiled  stranger, 
yet  if  Bero  had  turned  upon  her  and  asked, 
"  Who  is  she?"  she  would  have  replied:  UI  do 
not  know  her  name  or  where  she  lives,  but  I 
know  she  struggles,  and  despairs,  and  smiles 
over  all.  And  I  know  her  suffering  -comes  from 
sorrow  —  not  from  sin."  But  Mae  did  not  say 
all  this.  She  only  looked  at  the  veiled  lady. 
Her  vestal  lamp  had  dropped  for  the  moment, 
and  she  seemed  to  be  gazing  far  away.  A  fold 
of  her  heavy  veil  fell  over  her  brow  quite  down 
to  her  great  dark  eyes.  They  were  unshaded, 
yet  they  too,  seemed  clouded  for  the  moment. 
u  Her  name  is  Lillia,"  said  Mae,  reassuringly  to 


MAE  MADDEN.  155 

herself.  "  Her  name  is  Lillia.  I  am  sure  she  is 
like  her  name."  Bero  smiled.  Just  then 
Lisetta  appeared. 


10 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ARLY  the  next  morning,  in  the  misty 
light,  Lisetta  and  Mae,  the  latter  still  in 
her  contadina  costume,  left  the  house 
quietly.  In  an  hour  the  train  for 
Naples  was  to  start,  but  Lisetta  wanted  to  say 
her  prayers  in  Rome  on  this  Ash  Wednesday. 
They  wandered  into  a  little  church,  one  of  the 
many  Roman  churches,  and  knelt  side  by  side, 
Lisetta  with  her  beads  and  her  penance,  and 
Mae  with  her  thoughts,  which  grew  dreary 
enough  before  the  peasant  was  ready  to  go. 
Mae  had  already  entrusted  her  money  to  Liset- 
ta's  keeping — some  one  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars, which  she  had  gotten  the  day  before  from 
Albert  to  buy  clothes  with — and  with  her  money 
she  had  also  resigned  all  care.  She  did  not 
know  therefore,  until  the  train  started,  that 
their  seats  were  in  a  third-class  carriage.  Every 
one  was  hurrying  on  board,  so  Mae  was  obliged 
to  jump  in  without  a  word,  and  accept  her  fate 
as  best  she  could.  It  was  no  very  pleasant  fate. 
The  van  was  dirfcy,  crowded,  garlic-scented. 
Mae  was  plucky,  however,  and  knew  she  was  to 


MAE  MADDEN.  157 

find  dirt  and  dreadful  odors  everywhere.  Two 
months  of  Rome  had  taught  her  that.  But  it 
grew  very  dreadful  in  the  close  travelling-car- 
riage. There  was  an  old  woman  at  her  side, 
with  a  deformed  hand,  and  two  soldiers  oppo- 
site, who  stared  rudely  at  her,  and  made  loud, 
unpleasant  remarks;  and  having  no  books,  and 
nothing  to  entertain  herself  with,  she  was  forced 
to  curl  up  in  a  corner,  and  try  to  sleep,  which 
she  could  not  do. 

Poor  child!  it  was  a  hard  day.  Dull  and 
dreary  outside,  and  within,  the  sickening  odors 
and  people.  Back  in  Rome,  what  were  they 
doing?  Had  they  found  out  that  she  had  gone? 
And  Eric,  how  was  he  feeling?  No,  no,  she  must 
not  think  of  all  this.  It  belonged  to  the  past. 
Before  her  lay  Sorrento,  the  bay  of  Naples, 
oranges,  white  clouds,  and  the  children  of  the 
sun.  Mamma  was  south,  too  —  if  she  were 
only  going  to  her.  So  the  day  dragged  on, 
until  with  the  evening  they  reached  Naples. 
They  spent  the  night  with  a  friend  of  Lisetta, 
'  who  rented  apartments  to  English  and  Ameri- 
cans. Mae  was  fortunate,  therefore,  in  securing 
an  unlet  bedroom  that  was  comfortably  fur- 
nished. She  enjoyed  listening  to  Lisetta's 
stories  of  Rome  and  the  Carnival;  and  after  a 


158  MAE  MADDEN. 

quiet  night  in  a  clean  bed,  awoke  tolerably 
happy  and  very  eager  for  her  first  sight  of  the 
bay.  They  took  an  early  train  out  to  Castella- 
mare, and  as  they  left  the  city,  Mae  wondered 
if  Bero  were  just  entering  it.  But  she  soon 
forgot  him  and  every  one  in  the  blue  glories 
of  tire  bay. 

At  Castellamare,  Graetano,  Lisetta's  husband, 
was  awaiting  them,  with  a  malicious  little 
donkey,  tricked  out  gaily  enough  in  tags  of 
color  and  tinkling  bells.  It  was  very  quaint  and 
delightful  to  get  into  the  funny,  low,  rattling 
cart,  and  go  jogging  off,  while  the  feminine 
sight-seers  fanned  themselves  in  the  windows  of 
the  ladies'  waiting-room,  and  grumbled,  and  the 
poor  masculine  travellers  bartered  in  poor 
Italian,  with  their  certain-to-conquer  enemies, 
those  triumphant  swindlers,  the  drivers  of  the 
conveyances  between  Sorrento  and  Castellamare 

Then  they  began  that  wonderful  ride  along 
the  coast.  The  horrors  of  the  day  before  rolled 
away  like  a  mist  as  the  donkey  jogged  along 
that  miraculous  drive.  Lisetta  and  Gaetano 
chattered  together,  and  Mae  sat  very  still,  with 
her  face  to  the  sea,  drinking  in  all  the  glory,  as 
she  had  longed  and  planned.  Hope  revived  in 
her  breast,  pride  had  stood  by  her  all  the  while, 


MAE  MADDEN.  159 

and  here  was  glorious  nature  coming  to  her 
aid.  She  was  going  swiftly  to  the  orange 
groves  and  the  children  of  the  sun.  She  should 
see  Talila  and  brown  babies  and  dancing,  and 
at  night  a  great,  yellow  moon  would  light  up 
the  whole  scene.  So  on  and  on  they  went,  the 
travelling  carriages  dashing  by  them  now  and 
then,  with  their  three  donkeys  abreast,  and  the 
driver  cracking  his  whip,  and  the  travellers  oh- 
ing  and  ah-ing. 

"  That  is  the  most  picturesque  peasant  I  have 
yet  seen,"  said  a  gentle  lady  in  brown  to  her 
husband,  as  they  passed  the  humble  little  party. 
"  Yes,  she  is  clean,  and  more  like  the  ideal  than 
the  actual  peasant,  and  I  am  very  glad  I  have 
seen  her." 

Really,  Mae  was  for  the  moment,  at  a  quick 
glance,  the  ideal  peasant.  Her  hands  lay  in  her 
lap,  her  face  was  toward  the  sea,  and  her  atti- 
tude and  features  were  all  full  of  that  glow  of 
existence  that  peasant  portraits  possess.  She 
lived  and  moved  and  had  her  being  as  part  of  a 
great,  warm,  live  picture.  If  the  lady  in  brown 
had  not  passed  so  quickly,  however,  she  would 
have  seen  a  something  in  Mae's  face  that  spoiled 
her  for  a  peasant,  an  earnestness  in  her  admir- 
ation, a  sharp  intensity  in  her  joy,  that  was  very 


160  MAE  MADDEN. 

different  from  the  languid  content  of  a  Southern 
Italian.  Her  movements  were  rather  like  those 
of  the  Northern  squirrel,  which  climbs  nimbly 
and  frisks  briskly,  than  like  the  sinuous,  serpen- 
tine motions  of  the  Southern  creatures  of  the 
soil.  We  are,  after  all,  born  where  we  belong, 
as  a  rule,  and  the  rest  of  us  soon  belong  where 
we  are  born. 

After  a  time  the  donkey  pattered  along  to- 
wards a  little  patch  of  houses  on  the  shore. 
They  had  already  passed  a  half  dozen  of  similar 
settlements.  Very  dirty  children  ran  about  cry- 
ing, ugly  old  women  knitted,  mongrel  dogs 
and  cats  barked  and  yelped  and  rolled  in  the 
mud.  Bits  of  orange-peel  and  old  cabbage  and 
other  refuse  food  lay  piled  near  the  doors.  There 
were,  to  be  sure,  young  girls  with  dark  eyes,  plait- 
ing straw,  and  the  very  dirt  heaps  had  a  pictur- 
esque sort  of  air.  An  artist  might  linger  a 
moment  to  look,  but  never  to  enter.  Yet  it 
was  here  that  Mae  must  enter.  This  was  her 
new  home.  The  neighbors  came  crowding 
about  curiously,  and  she  was  hurried  into  the 
little  hut  that  seemed  as  if  it  were  carved 
roughly  from  some  big  garlic,  probablyf  by 
taking  out  the  heart  of  it  for  dinner.  Mae 
hardly  comprehended  the  situation  at  first,  but 


MAE  MADDEN.  161 

when  she  began  to  realize  that  this  was  a  sub- 
stitute for  sea  breeze,  and  that  the  coarse 
clipped  patois  (which  sounded  worse  in  the  mass 
than  when  it  fell  from  Lisetta's  lips  alone)  was 
in  place  of  the  flowing  melody  of  speech  she 
had  longed  for,  she  grew  sick  at  heart.  The 
folly,  the  dreadfulness  of  what  she  had  done, 
swept  over  her  like  a  flood,  and  with  it  came 
dreadful  fear.  She  was  helpless, — an  outcast. 
Pride  would  never  let  her  go  home.  She  could 
go  nowhere  else.  They  had  her  money,  and 
here  she  must  live  and  die.  She  sat  down  in  a 
sort  of  stupor,  and  paid  no  heed  to  the  squab- 
bling children  who  pulled  at  her  gown,  or  the 
dogs  who  sniffed  snappingly  at  the  stranger. 

Lisetta,  busy  with  greetings  and  chattings, 
quite  forgot  her  for  a  time,  afnd  was  dismayed 
when  she  saw  her  sitting  disconsolately  by. 
u  Come,  Signorina,"  she  cried,  u  go  down  to  the 
bay.  Here  is  Talila;  she  will  guide  you." 

Mae  looked  up  quickly  at  that.  Talila,  was 
she  here  ?  A  few  feet  from  her  she  saw  an  un- 
couth woman,  with  that  falling  of  the  jaw 
most  imbeciles  possess,  and  a  vacancy  in  her 
eyes.  She  had  her  hand  raised  and  was  swear- 
ing at  one  of  the  children.  "  Talila,"  repeated 
Mae,  rubbing  her  eyes,  and  shivering,  "  but  I 


162  MAE  MADDEN. 

thought  Talila  would  be  different.  You  said 
she  loved  children,  but  this  woman  swears  at 
them." 

u  0,  dear,  we  all  swear  at  them,  but  we  love 
them;  you  shall  see  how  they  follow  her. 
Talila,  off  with  you  and  your  babies."  And  the 
next  moment  there  was  a  general  scamper  of 
brown  children  headed  by  this  tall,  vacant-look- 
ing woman.  "  Take  the  lady  to  the  sea,"  con- 
tinued Lisetta.  And  Mae  arose,  as  if  in  a  dream, 
and  followed  them. 

The  half-clad  children  of  the  sun  ran  before 
her  as  she  had  dreamed  they  would;  flowers 
sprang  up  along  the  way,  but  she  did  not  stop 
to  pluck  a  single  bud  or  turn  to  look  at  any- 
thing. She  wandered  on  in  an  awful  sort  of 
fright  and  came  at  length  to  the  water's  edge. 
Here  there  were  row-boats  lying  at  anchor,  into 
which  the  children  clambered.  Mae  stepped 
into  one  of  them  and  sat  down  in  the  stern, 
and  looked  about.  All  was  as  she  had  planned. 
Her  day  of  heaven  was  here.  She  tried  to  be 
brave.  0,  she  tried  very  hard.  She  wanted  to 
love  and  enjoy  the  sea,  and  think  beautiful 
thoughts.  She  roused  a  little  and  stretched 
herself  out  to  catch  the  sunbeams  in  her  eyes, 
as  she  had  said  she  would,  How  warm  they 


MAE  MADDEN.  163 

were.  An  umbrella  would  be  a  luxury — and  a 
book!  But  these  belonged  to  the  world  she  had 
left  so  far  behind  her.  The  dirty  children 
babbled  a  strange  to  ague;  the  water  around  the 
boat,  by  the  shore,  was  covered  with  a  scum, 
and  alas!  alas!  the  land  of  her  desire  was  far- 
ther off  than  ever.  Then  she  remembered  that 
Norman  Mann  had  once  said:  "If  you  ever  do 
disappear  I  shall  know  where  to  look  for  you." 
Would  he  think  of  it  now?  Would  he  come 
for  her?  It  he  had  only  come  last  night, 
and  would  drive  by  now  to  Sorrento.  He 
would  be  here  soon  if  he  had.  Would  she 
call  him  loudly  or  shrink  down  in  the  boat 
and  hide  her  face  in  her  hands  till  she  knew 
he  was  a  long  way  past?  The  rest  of  them 
would  not  know  where  to  look  for  her.  They 
did  not  know  anything  about  Lisetta,  and  she 
had  promised  not  to  tell  even  the  padrona. 
(Faithless  Lisetta!)  But  of  course  Norman 
wouldn't  come  for  her,  after  what  he  had  said 
at  the  Capitol.  That  was  what  finally  drove  her 
away.  How  unlike  him  it  did  seem  to  speak  of 
her  in  that  way  to  Eric.  She  thought  over  his 
words,  and  as  she  did  so  she  seemed  to  see  her 
mistake,  and  grasp  his  meaning. 

She  sprang  up  in  the  boat.    "  It  was  the  other 


164  MAE  MADDEN. 

girl —  Miss  Rae  —  he  was  speaking  of.  Oh,  oh, 
oh  —  and  now  it  is  too  late.  He  will  hate  me 
always." 

As  she  stood  there,  a  carriage  rolled  by. 
Some  one  looked  out.  "  0,  mamma,"  said  a 
young  voice  in  English,  "  look  at  that  pretty 
little  peasant,"  and  a  kid-gloved  hand  was 
stretched  through  the  open  window  to  spatter 
a  shower  of  base  coin  toward  her.  It  was 
terrible!  The  children  sprang  for  it,  and,  fight- 
ing and  laughing,  ran  homewards  with  the 
dreadful  Talila.  The  parti-colored  picturesque 
dress  had  been  a  joy  to  Mae.  Now  she  longed 
to  tear  it  off  and  die  —  die!  No,  she  was  afraid 
to  die.  She  would  have  to  live,  and  she  didn't 
know  how,  and  she  laughed  a  bitter  sort  of 
laugh. 

There  was  a  sound  of  horses'  feet  again.  The 
road  lay  almost  close  to  the  shore  just  here. 
A  low  exclamation,  a  vault  from  his  horse, 
which  was  speedily  cared  for  by  a  dozen  boys 
near  at  hand,  and  before  Mae  knew  it,  the  offi- 
cer was  beside  her  once  more. 

0,  how  beautiful  it  was  to  see  some  one  from 
the  world,  fresh,  and  clean,  and  fair.  Mae 
gazed  at  him  in  delight,  and  sprang  up  warmly, 
holding  out  both  her  hot  hands,  uHow  is 


MAE  MADDEN.  165 

Heaven?"  asked  Bero,  as  he  raised  the  white 
fingers  to  his  lips. 

"  That  is  not  the  custom  with  us,"  said  Mae, 
withdrawing  her  hand. 

"  But  what  is  custom  in  Heaven  ?"  he  laughed. 
"  Can't  we  do  as  we  please  in  our  Heaven,  Sig- 
norina?" 

"  This  isn't  our  Heaven,  and  I  don't  please. 
0,  how  could  you  let  me  come  to  this  dreadful 
place.  Did  you  know  how  awful  it  would  be?" 

u  Shall  I  tell  you  why  I  said  nothing?  Let 
me  row  you  away  from  all  this,"  and  he  began 
to  untie  the  boat. 

"When  did  you  come?"  asked  Mae. 

"  I  left  Rome  last  night,  reached  Naples  this 
morning,  and  here  I  am  as  soon  as  possible, 
Signorina." 

Mae  felt  herself  gradually  yielding  to  the  spell 
of  this  man's  soft  power.  She  had  grown  strange- 
ly quiet  and  passive,  and  she  folded  her  hands  and 
looked  off  seawards  in  a  not  unhappy  way.  She 
seemed  to  be  some  one  else  in  a  strange  dream. 

u  Are  you  glad  I  came?"  asked  Bero,  as  he 
jumped  into  the  boat  and  sat  down  opposite  her. 
Mae  did  not  reply.  She  had  almost  lost  the 
power  of  speech.  She  only  smiled  feebly  and 
faintly.  Bero  had  never  seen  her  thus  before, 


166  MAE  MADDEN. 

but  he  realized  dimly  that  it  was  he  who  had 
changed  her,  and  the  sense  of  his  own  power 
excited  him  the  more.  He  bent  his  proud  head 
and  flashed  his  beautiful  eyes  as  he  lifted  the 
oars  to  the  locks,  and  silently  pulled  out  toward 
the  bay. 

As  he  rowed  he  gazed  fixedly  at  her,  and  the 
frightened,  puzzled  child  could  not  turn  her 
eyes  from  his.  His  look  grew  softer  and  ten- 
derer, his  head  bent  towards  her,  the  oars  moved 
slower  and  slower  and  at  last  stopped  impercept- 
ibly. Still  the  man  gazed  passionately,  claim- 
ingly,  and  the  girl  breathed  harder  and  let  her 
eyes  rest  on  his,  as  if  he  had  been  a  wondrous, 
charming  serpent,  and  she  a  little,  unresisting 
dove.  Then  he  spoke. 

His  words  were  so  low,  it  seemed  as  if  his  eyes 
had  found  voice;  his  words  were  so  caressing,  it 
seemed  as  if  they  changed  to  kisses  as  they  fell. 
"  Listen,11  he  said,  softly,  and  drew  up  his  drip- 
ping oars  and  let  the  boat  drift — "  Listen.  This 
is  not  our  Heaven,  but  I  know  a  villa  by  the 
sea.  There  are  hills  and  woods  about  it;  flowers, 
fruits,  and  in  the  day,  sunshine,  at  .night,  moon- 
light and  music;  drives,  and  walks,  and  vines, 
and  arbors.  Could  you  find  there  your  Heaven  — 
with  me?  May  I  take  you  to  my  villa?" 


MAE  MADDEN.  167 

When  he  ceased,  his  words  dropped  slowly 
into  silence,  and  Mae  still  gazed  at  him.  She 
saw  him  come  nearer  to  her,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  hers;  she  saw  his  hand  leave  the  oar  and 
move  slowly  toward  hers,  but  she  was  motion- 
less, looking  at  the  picture  he  had  painted  her 
of  life  —  the  cloudless  days,  moonlit  nights  — 
the  villa  by  the  sea  —  the. glowing  Piedmontese. 
Her  eyelids  trembled,  her  pulse  beat. 

Could  she  take  that  villa  for  her  home?  That 
man  for  her  husband?  She  had  half  thought 
till  now  in  soft  luxurious  Italian,  but fc  my  home ' 
and  '  my  husband '  said  themselves  to  her  in  1ier 
own  mother  tongue.  She  gave  a  long  shiver, 
and  pulled  her  eyes  from  his.  It  was  like  wak- 
ing from  a  dream.  u  No  —  oh,  no;  take  me 
home,"  she  gasped,  and  turned  toward  the 
shore,  where,  erect,  with  folded  arms  and  head 
bared,  stood  Norman  Mann. 

The  Italian  bit  his  lip,  and  said  something 
under  his  breath,  but  he  took  the  oars  and 
pulled  ashore.  Mae  turned  her  eyes  downward 
and  felt  the  color  creep  up,  up  into  her  cheeks. " 
It  seemed  eternity.  The  boa.t  was  Charon's, 
and  she  was  drifting  to  her  fate.  Norman 
Mann  stood  like  a  statue.  The  wind  moved  his 
hair  over  his  forehead,  and  once  Mae  saw  him 


168  MAE  MADDEN. 

toss  the  unruly  locks  back  in  a  familiar  way  he 
had.  She  did  not  know  why,  but  the  tears  half 
came  to  her  eyes  as  he  did  it.  He  stood  as  firm 
and  hard  and  still  as  a  New  England  rock, 
while  the  Italian  swayed  lithely  as  he  pulled 
the  oars,  with  the  curve  and  motion  of  a  slid- 
ing, slippery  stream. 

The  boat  came  safely  ashore.  The  Pied- 
montese  helped  her  to  land,  and  the  three  stood 
silent;  but  Mae  under  all  her  shame  felt  con- 
tent to  be  near  Norman.  His  voice  broke  the 
quiet,  quick  and  clear.  u  Are  you  married?11  he 
asked. 

" I! married!  What  do  you — what  can  he 
mean?" 

u  Why  is  this  man  here,  then?" 

Mae  stood  an  instant  so  still  that  the  heavy 
breaths  of  the  two  men  were  distinctly  audible, 
the  passionate  boundings  of  Bero's  pulse,  the 
long,  deep  throbs  of  Norman's  heart.  The 
officer  stepped  toward  her.  Norman  stood  un- 
moved. The  Italian's  eye  wandered  restlessly, 
his  hand  fell  to  his  sword.  Norman's  arms 
were  folded,  and  his  face  set. 

Mae  looked  at  one,  then  at  the  other,  perplex- 
edly. Then  she  understood.  Like  lightning,  a 
terrible  temptation  flashed  into  her  mind.  The 


MAE  MADDEN.  169 

Italian  loved  her,  would  shield,  protect,  honor 
her.  Norman  must  hate  her,  would  always 
despise  her.  Should  she  lift  her  little  weak 
woman's  hand  and  place  it  in  the  man's  hand 
ready  to  claim  it,  or  stand  still  and  be  crushed 
by  that  other  hand  there? 

Ah!  she  could  not  do  it.  She  tried  once. 
She  held  out  weakly  her  right  hand  toward 
Bero;  but  the  left  stretched  itself  involuntarily 
to  Norman.  Then  the  two  met  in  each  other's 
pitiful  clasp  over  her  bent  head,  and  with  a 
low  wailing  cry  she  fell  in  a  little  heap  on  the 
sand. 

When  she  opened  her  eyes,  they  were  both 
bending  over  her.  "  Take  me  home,"  she 
gasped  to  Norman.  He  glared  at  the  officer. 
u  Gro!"  he  said.  Bero  put  his  hand  to  his  sword. 
Mae  sprang  up.  "  No,"  she  said,  gently,  "  no, 
my  friend,  for  you  have  always  been  kind  and 
friendly  to  me.  Pray  go."  Bero  was  touched 
by  this.  This  little  girl  had  taken  only  good 
from  him,  after  all,  sympathy  and  friendliness. 
Norman  was  touched  also  with  the  same 
thought.  Then  the  officer  smiled  pleasantly. 
He  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly,  regretfully, 
and  bowed  and  rode  away.  And  so  the  clink- 
ing spurs  and  yellow  moustaches  and  amorous 
eyes  vanished  from  Mae's  sight. 


170  MAE  MADDEN. 

As  he  rode  off  he  was  somewhat  sorrowful; 
but  he  took  a  picture  from  his  pocket  and 
looked  at  it.  "  She'll  be  glad  to  welcome  me 
back  again,"  he  said  to  himself,  pleasantly,  uand 
she  belongs  to  my  own  land.  This  little  for- 
eigner might  have  pined  for  her  own  home,  by 
and  by."  Then  he  sighed  and  shook  his  head. 
"Alas!  this  little  stranger  will  dance  before 
you  often,  still!"  and  he  touched  his  eyes;  "but 
I  will  put  you  back  in  your  place  here,  now." 
This  he  said,  looking  at  Lillia's  picture  and 
with  his  hand  on  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AKE  me  home,"  said  Mae  again  im- 
ploringly. u  Not  back  there,"  as  Nor- 
man drew  her  hand  through  his  arm 
and  started  for  the  hut,  "  0  no,  not 
even  for  a  minute." 

u  Sit  here  then,"  he  replied  qiiiBtly,  "  while 
I  arrange  it  with  the  woman,"  and  he  walked 
quickly  away.  Mae  watched  him  till  he  entered 
the  low  doorway,  in  a  sort  of  subdued,  glorified 
happiness,  that  would  break  out  over  her  shame 
and  fear.  She  was  afraid  he  would  hate  her,  at 
least  she  told  herself  so,  but  in  reality,  every- 
thing and  everybody  and  every  place  were  fast 
fading  out  of  this  eager  little  mind.  She  and 
Norman  were  together,  and  she  could  not  help 
being  content.  There  was  a  certain  joy  in  her 
weakness  and  shame,  though  they  were  genuine 
and  kept  her  hushed  and  silent. 

Poor  Lisetta  was  very  much  frightened,  but 
told  her  story  to  this  angry  stranger  with  true 
Southern  palaver.  She  said  the  little  lady 
loved  Italy  so,  and  wanted  to  be  a  peasant,  and 
insisted  she  would  run  away  quite  by  herself  if 
11 


172  MAE  MADDEN. 

Lisetta  would  not  take  her,  and  so  she  con- 
sented, knowing  she  could,  through  the  pa- 
drona,  send  word  to  the  friends. 

"  And  the  man  ?  "  asked  Norman,  impatiently. 

"What  man?  0,  the  officer.  He  just  rode 
down  this  morning  for  a  morning  call.  I 
never  saw  him  before." 

A  great  weight,  as  large  as  the  Piedmontese, 
fell  from  Norman's  heart  then,  and  he  scattered 
money  among  the  children  recklessly  and 
ordered  up  the  donkey,  and  smiled  on  the 
amazed  Lisetta  all  in  the  same  breath,  and  went 
back  to  help  Mae  into  the  wagon  with  the  light- 
est kind  of  a  heart.  It  was  a  strange  ride  they 
took  back  to  Castellamare.  I  think  they  both 
wished  the  world  could  stand  still  once  more. 
When  they  had  arrived  at  the  station  they 
found  the  next  train  to  Naples  was  not  due  for 
two  hours.  Norman  left  Mae  in  the  waiting- 
room  for  a  time.  Through  the  window  she 
watched  Gaetano  and  the  donkey  start  home- 
ward, with  a  great  sigh  of  relief.  She  had 
time  while  she  was  sitting  to  think,  but  her 
head  was  in  too  great  a  whirl.  She  could  only 
feel  sorry  and  ashamed  and  meek  and  happy,  all 
mixed  together.  The  sensation  was  odd. 

"  I  have  telegraphed  Eric  that  we  would  start 


MAE  MADDEN.  173 

home  by  the  next  train,  that  you  had  only  been 
off  for  a  frolic.  I  hope  we  can  buy  a  water- 
proof or  shawl  and  a  hat  in  Naples  for  you?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mae,  meekly,  "  I  have  my  water- 
proof here.  I  think  I  will  put  it  on  now,  please," 
and  she  began  nervously  to  untie  the  shawl 
strap.  Norman  put  her  fingers  gently  aside, 
and  unbuckled  it  for  her.  He  handed  her  the 
long  deep-blue  cloak,  which  she  put  tightly 
about  her,  drawing  the  hood  over  her  head. 
"  You  look  like  a  nun,"  said  Norman,  smiling. 
"  I  wish  I  were  one,"  replied  Mae,  with  a  choke 
in  her  throat.  She  was  growing  very  poniten- 
tial  and  softened. 

"What  shall  we  do  now?"  asked  Mr.  Mann. 
"  We  have  a  long  time  to  wait.  If  you  feel  like 
walking,  we  can  find  a  pleasanter  spot  than  this." 
"Go  anywhere  you  please,"  replied  Mae  meekly. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?" — for  Norman 
had  a  verv  amused  expression  in  his  brown  eyes. 

"  I  hardly  recognize  you.  Not  a  trace  of  fight 
so  far,  and  it  must  be  two  hours  since  we  met. 

"  Don't,"  said  Mae,  with  her  eyes  down,  so  of 
course  he  didn't,  but  the  two  just  marched  quietly 
along  back  on  the  Sorrento  road  towards  some 
high  rocks.  They  sat  down  behind  these,  with 
their  faces  towards  the  sea,  and  were  as  thor- 


174:  MAE  MADDEN. 

oughly  hidden  from  view,  as  if  they  had  been 
quite  alone  in  the  world. 

"I  suppose  they  were  frightened,"  asked  Mae, 
u  at  home — at  Rome,  I  mean.'1  "  Dreadfully,1'  re- 
plied Norman,  trying  to  be  sober,  but  with  the 
glad  ring  in  his  voice  still.  "  Edith  was  for  drag- 
ging the  Tiber;  she  was  sure  you  and  the  seven- 
branched  candlestick  lay  side  by  side.  Mrs. 
Jerrold  searched  your  trunks  and  read  all  your 
private  papers,  I  am  morally  certain."  Then 
Norman  stopped  abruptly,  and  Mae  drew  the 
long  stiletto  from  her  hair  nervously  and 
played  with  it  before  she  said,  "  And  the 
boys?1'  "  Albert  was  very,  very  sad,  but 
reasonably  sure  you  would  be  found.  We  all 
feared  the  Italian,  but  Albert  worked  carefully, 
and  soon  discovered  that  the  officer  was  said  to 
be  engaged  to  a  young  girl  with  whom  he  had 
been  seen  the  day  after  you  left,  and  that  gave 
him  courage,11 — then  Normal*  stopped  again 
abruptly.  "And  Eric?"  "Eric  sat  down  with 
his  face  in  his  hands  and  cried,  Miss  Mae,  and 
said,  l  I've  lost  my  sister,  the  very  dearest  little 
sister  in  the  world.' '' 

"  And  you  came  and  found  me,"  said  Mae,  af- 
ter a  pause,  wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes. 
"  Yes,  thank  God,"  said  Norman.  He  was  sober 


MAE  MADDEN.  175 

enough  now.  "  Why  did  you  do  it?'1  asked  Mae, 
"  when  I  had  been  so  naughty,  and  silly,  and 
unkind?"  He  came  very  near  telling  her  the 
reason  as  she  looked  up  at  him,  but  he  did  not, 
for  she  dashed  on,  U0!  Mr.  Mann,  I  have 
been—" 

u  Don't  confess  to  me,  Miss  Mae.  Leave  all 
of  this  till  you  get  home  to  your  own,  who  have 
a  right  to  your  confessions  and  penitence.  Never 
mind  what  you  have  been,  here  you  are,  and 
as  I  have  only  one  more  handkerchief  and  your 
own  looks  as  if  it  had  been  sea-bathing,  you  had 
better  dry  your  eyes  and  be  jolly  for  the  next 
two  hours."  This  was  a  precarious  speech,  but 
Mae  only  laughed  at  it,and  dried  her  eyes  quickly. 
"  But  I  have  one  thing  to  say  to  you,"  she  said, 
"and  please  mayn't  I?" 

"  You  may  say  anything  you  please  to  me,  of 
course,"  replied  this  very  magnanimous  Nor- 
man. 

u  It  is  not  about  the  miserable  past  or 
my  doings,  but  it's  about  the  future.  I've  said 
good-bye  to  my  dreams  of  life — the  floating  and 
waving  and  singing  and  dancing  life  that  was 
like  iced  champagne.  I'd  rather  have  cold 
water,  thank  you,  sir,  for  a  steady  drink,  morn- 
ing, noon  and  night.  I'm  going  to  be  good,  to 


176  MAE  MADDEN. 

read  and  study  and  grow  restful," — and  Mae 
folded  her  hands  and  looked  off  toward  the  sea. 
u  She's  a  witching  child."  thought  Norman. 
Then  she  raised  her  head.  "  I  said  it  lightly 
because  I  felt  it  deeply,"  she  added,  as  if  in  re- 
ply to  his  thought.  "  I  am  going  to  grow,  if  I 
can,  unselfish  and  sympathetic,  and  perhaps, 
who  knows,  wise,  and  any  way  good." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  giving  up  your  cham- 
pagne entirely.  Give  yourself  a  dinner  party 
now  and  then  o'  holidays.  The  world  is  full  of 
color  and  beauty,  and  poetry  you  love.  All 
study  is  full  of  it  —  most  of  all  it  lives  in 
humanity." 

"  Well,"  said  Mae,  "  aren't  you  glad  I'm  go- 
ing to  change  so?" 

"  I'm  glad  you're  going  to  give  your  soul  a 
chance.  Your  body  has  been  putting  it  down 
hard  of  late." 

u  It's  but  a  weakling,"  said  Mae,  with  a  shake 
of  her  head,  "  and  I've  hardly  heard  its  whimp- 
ers at  all,  but — 0,  Mr.  Mann,  if  you  could  have 
seen  Talila — she's  dreadful." 

u  Who  is  Talila?  and  what  has  she  to  do  with 
your  soul  ?" 

"  0,  she's  one  of  those  Sorrento  people,"  re- 
plied Mae,  as  if  she  had  lived  there  for  years. 
"  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you:  it  will  take — ' 


MAE  MADDEN.  177 

u  Years,  I  hope,  dear.1'  The  last  word  drop- 
ped without  his  noticing  it,  but  Mae  caught 
it  and  hid  it  in  her  heart. 

u  What  made  you  think  of  coming  for  me?" 
she  asked,  after  a  pause,  during  which  Norman 
had  hummed  a  song  as  she  had  been  writing 
her  name  on  the  sand.  They  were  quite  on 
the  shore  and  only  a  narrow  stretch  of  beach 
separated  them  from  the  bay.  u  You  said  if 
you  ever  came  away,  you  would  go  to  Sorrento, 
and  I  knew  you  had  a  friend  in  the  kitchen 
who  lived  near  Naples.  So  I  searched  for  her 
and  the  padrona,  and,  finding  neither  of  them, 
set  Giovanni  a  babbling,  and  learned  that  the 
woman  Lisetta  had  left  that  morning  for  Sor- 
rento. I  told  the  boys  I  had  a  mere  suspicion 
that  I  would  trace  for  them.  So  off  I  came 
last  night,  and  by  stopping  and  enquiring  at 
every  settlement,  at  last  discovered  you." 

u  This  is  my  birth-day;  I  am  twenty  years 
old,"  said  Mae.  u  Why,  what  are  you  doing?  " 
For  Norman  had  bent  down  to  the  sand  also, 
and  had  drawn  a  queer  little  figure  there. 
-  u  That  is  you  when  you  were  one  year  old," 
be  laughed,  u  and  you  could  only  crow  and  kick 
your  small  feet,  and  smile  now  and  then,  and 
cry  the  rest  of  the  time." 


178  MAE  MADDEN. 

u  That  is  about  all  I  can  do  yet,1'  said  Mae. 

"  Here  comes  number  two,"  and  he  drew  his 
hand  across  the  sand  and  smoothed  the  baby 
image  away,  leaving  in  its  place  a  round,  sturdy 
little  creature,  poised  dangerously  on  one  foot. 
u  You  have  walked  alone,  and  you  have  called 
your  father's  name,  and  you're  a  wonderful 
child  by  this  time." 

u  This  is  the  three-year-old,  white  aprons  and 
curls,  please  observe.  Now,  you  recite  l  Dick- 
ery,  dickery  dock  '  and  4 1  want  to  be  an  angel,' 
and  you  have  cut  all  your  wisdom  teeth." 

"6,  Mr.  Mann,  I  haven't  cut  them  yet. 
Babies  don't  have  them." 

"Don't  they?  Well,  you  have  other  teeth 
in  their  place,  white  and  sharp — but  by  this 
time  you  are  four  years  old." 

u  Ah,  here  I  begin  to  remember.  You  draw 
the  pictures,  and  I'll  describe  myself.  Four 
years  old! — let  me  see — I  had  a  sled  for  Christ- 
mas, and  I  used  to  eat  green  apples.  That's  all 
I  can  remember;  and  five  and  six  years  old  were 
just  the  same." 

"  0,  no,  I'm  sure  you  went  to  church  for  the 
first  time  somewhere  along  there;  and  isn't  that 
a  noteworthy  event  ?  I  suppose  all  your 
thoughts  were  of  your  button  boots  and  your 
new  parasol  ?  " 


MAE  MADDEN.  1J9 

UI  behaved  beautifully,  I  know;  mamma 
says  so;  sat  up  like  a  lady,  while  you,  were  sleep- 
ing, on  that  very  same  Sunday,  off  in  some  little 
country  church,  I  suppose." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder — sleeping  in  my  broth- 
er's outgrown  coat  into  the  bargain,  with  the 
sleeves  dangling  over  my  little  brown  hands." 

"  It  doesn't  seem  as  if.  they  could  ever  have 
been  very  little,  does  it,  Mr.  Mann?  " 

Mr.  Mann  unfolded  five  fingers  and  a  thumb 
and  surveyed  them  gravely  for  a  moment.  "  It 
is  strange  that  this  once  measured  three  inches 
by  two  and  couldn't  hit  out  any  better  than 
your's  could." 

Mae  had  laid  her  hand  on  her  knee  and  was 
looking  at  it  also  in  the  most  serious  manner. 
Now  she  doubled  it  into  a  small  but  very  pug- 
nacious looking  fist,  which  she  shook  most  en- 
trancingly  before  the  very  eyes  of  the  young 
man  by  her  side.  The  eyes  turned  such  a  pe- 
culiar look  upon  her  that  she  hastened  to  add: 
"  Go  on  with  your  dissolving  views.  It  is  num- 
ber eight's  turn  next.  You  are  the  showman, 
and  I  am  interested  spectator." 

"  You  insist  upon  describing  my  pictures,  so 
I  think  you  are  properly  first  assistant  to  the 
grand  panorama.  Here's  eight-year-old.  Try 
your  powers  on  her." 


180  MAE  MADDEN. 

"  Let  me  see.  0,  then  I  read  all  the  while, 
the  4  Fairehild  Family '  and  l  Anna  Ross,'  and  I 
used  to  wear  my  hair  in  very  smooth  braids,  I 
remember.  I  was  ever  so  good." 

"  Impossible;  you  must  have  forgotten,"  sug- 
gested Norman.  "You  surely  whispered  in 
school  and  committed  similar  dreadful  crimes. 
Poor  little  prig." 

"No,  don't,"  plead  Mae;  "please  don't  laugh 
at  the  little  girl  me.  I  love  to  think  of  her  as  so 
goody-goody.  Last  night,"  and  Mae  lowered 
her  voice,  "  I  seemed  to  see  little  Mae  Madden 
kneeling  down  in  the  old  nursery  in  her  woolly 
wrapper  saying  her  prayers,"  and  Mae  brought 
up  on  the  prayers  very  abruptly,  and  bent  over 
toward  the  sand  and  began  to  draw  hastily. 
"  Here  comes  nine-year-old  Mae.  Mr.  Mann, 
you  may  do  the  describing." 

"  0,  I  suppose  there  were  doll's  parties,  first 
valentines,  and  rides  with  Albert  in  his  buggy, 
when  you  clung  very  tightly  to  the  slight  arm 
of  the  carriage  and  smiled  very  bravely  up  in  his 
face.  You  must  have  been  pretty  then." 

"  No,  I  was  dreadfully  ugly.  I  had  broken 
out  two  teeth  climbing  a  stone  wall." 

"  You  had  stopped  being  good?  " 

"  Yes,  that  only  lasted  a  little  bit  of  a  time." 


MAE  MADDEN.  181 

"  Miss  Mae,  I'm  sure  you  were  never  ugly, 
but  naughty  and  silly,  I  dare  say.  Kept  a 
diary  now, didn't  you?" 

"  Yes,  and  went  to  sleep  with  Eliza  Cooke's 
poems  under  my  pillow  every  night,  and  my 
finger  holding  the  book  open  at  some  such 
thrilling  verse  as  this: 

'Say  on  that  I'm  over  romantic 

In  loving  the  wild  and  the  free, 
But  the  waves  of  the  dashing  Atlantic, 

The  Alps  and  the  eagle  for  me.'  " 

"  Did  you  wear  your  hair  plaited  when  you 
were  ten  years  old?"  enquired  Norman,  in- 
tensely busy  with  another  drawing. 

u  0  no;  I  didn't  do  anything  when  I  was  ten 
years  old  but  get  mad  and  make  up  with  my 
two  dearest  friends." 

"  One  of  whom  was  your  dearest  friend  one- 
half  of  the  time  and  the  other  the  rest  of  it,  I 
suppose." 

"  Don't  be  satirical,  sir.  I  had  a  lover  when 
I  was  eleven;  I  used  to  skate  with  him  and 
write  him  little  notes,  folded  very  queerly." 

"  Why  do  you  draw  twelve  and  thirteen  with 
their  heads  down?"  asked  Mae,  after  a  moment. 

u  Because  they  read  so  much;  everything  they 


182  MAE  MADDKN. 

can  get  hold  of,  including,  possibly,  a  very 
revised  edition  of  l  Arabian  Nights'  ?  " 

"  Yes,1'  laughed  Mae,  "  and  my  first  novel, 
'Villette.'" 

u  You  go  to  a  play  for  the  first  time  now," 
suggested  Norman.  u  How  you  clasp  your 
hands  and  wink  your  eyes  and  bite  your  lips! 
And  next  day,  in  front  of  your  mother's  pier- 
glass,  how  you  scream  c  0,  my  love,'  and  gasp 
and  tumble  over  in  a  heap  in  your  brown  calico, 
as  the  grand  lady  did  the  night  before,  in  her 
pink  silk." 

"  Brown  calico,  indeed!  I  never  condescended 
to  die  in  my  own  clothes,  let  me  assure  you. 
The  garret  was  overhauled,  and  had  been  since 
I  was  a  mere  baby,  for  effective,  sweeping  gar- 
ments. Let  us  hurry  along  over  fourteen  and 
fifteen.  I  was  sentimental  and  tried  to  be  so 
young-ladyish  then.  I  used  to  read  history 
with  Albert,  and  always  put  on  both  my  gloves 
when  I  started  out,  and  had  great  horror  of 
girls  who  talked  loud  in  the  street.  I  learned  to 
make  bread,  and  shirt  bosoms,  and  such  things." 

"Well,  here  you  are  in  a  long  dress,  Miss 
Sweet  Sixteen.  I  remember  you  home  from 
boarding  school  on  a  vacation." 

"What  did  you  think  of  me?"  asked  Mae, 


MAE  MADDEN.  183 

u  didn't  we  have  a  nice  time  that  summer?  0, 
how  silly  I  was!" 

She  hurried  on,  because  the  eyes  had  given 
her  that  peculiar  look  again,  which  put  her 
heart  in  a  tremble.  u  I  did  have  a  beautiful  time 
at  boarding  school,"  she  continued,  "  the 
darlingest  principal  and  such  girls." 

u  Then  I  suppose  you  wrote  a  salutatory  in  for- 
lorn rhyme  to  end  off  with,"  laughed  Norman, 
"  and  read  it,  all  arrayed  in  white,  in  a  trembling 
voice,  and  everybody  applauded,  and  even  old 
Judge  Seymour  admired  it,  while  you  were  read- 
ing, with  your  pink  cheeks  and  trembling  hands 
and  quivering  voice." 

"Abominable!  I  didn't  have  the  salutatory, 
and  the  girl  who  did,  read  a  superb  one,  as  strong 
and  masculine — 

"  Then  the  Judge  went  1  o  sleep,  I'm  sure," 
declared  Norman. 

;t  Well,"  said  Mae,  uyou  are  leaving  out  two 
years,"  for  Norman  had  leaned  back  against  the 
rock  with  his  arms  folded. 

"  By  and  by,"  said  Norman,  "  we  all  come 
off  to  Europe,  and  some  of  as  go  through  the 
heart-ache,  don't  we?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mae,  softly. 

u  But  come  out  ahead  one  day  at  Sorrento, 


184  MAE  MADDEN. 

perhaps?"  asked  Norman.  To  which  Mae 
made  no  direct  reply. 

"  AIL  the  Mae  Maddens  have  faded  away,"  she 
said,  looking  down  at  the  sand  again.  "  The  tide 
is  rising."  And  she  walked  forward  to  the 
ripples  of  water,  and  then  came  slowly  back 
and  stood  before  Norman  seriously.  He 
laughed. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Mann,"  said  Mae,  "  I  have  been 
so  very,  very  wicked." 

The  dreadful  Mr.  Mann  only  laughed  again. 

"  You  act  as  if  it  were  all  a  joke.  I  never 
saw  you  so  merry  before." 

"I  have  never  been  as  happy  before,  in  my 
life." 

'"  Why?"  asked  Mae,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Because  I  have  found  you,"  he  answered 
earnestly,  and  before  she  knew  it  Mae  was 
lifted  in  the  strong,  manly  arms,  her  pink 
cheek  close  to  Norman's  brown  one,  and  his 
lips  on  hers.  She  leaned  her  face  against  his 
and  clung  tightly  to  him. 

11  0,  Mr.  Norman  Mann,"  she  said,  '*  do  you 
really  want  me  as  much — as  I  do  you?" 

And  Norman,  still  holding  her  tightly,  bent 
his  hand,  with  hers  clasped  in  it,  to  the  sand, 


MAE  MADDEN.  185 

and  after  the  Mae  Madden,  he   wrote   another 
name,  so  that  it  read: 

MAE    MADDEN    MANN. 

Then  he  said  a  great  many,  many  things,  all 
beginning  with  that  electric,  wonderful  little 
possessive  pronoun  "  my,"  of  which  he  had  dis- 
coursed formerly,  and  he  held  her  close  all  the 
while,  and  they  missed  the  next  train  for 
Naples. 

The  gay  peasant  costume  fell  about  the  girfs 
round  lithe  form  like  the  luxuriant  skin  of  some 
richly  marked  animal;  but  out  of  her  eyes 
looked  a  woman's  tender,  loving,  earnest  soul. 
Norman  Mann  had  saved  her. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

DITH  was  quietly  married  to  Albert 
at  Easter  time,  in  the  English  Chapel 
at  Florence.  The  event  was  hastened 
by  the  sudden  appearance  of  Mae's 
parents,  who  set  sail  soon  after  hearing  of 
the  Sorrento  escapade  and  the  embryonic 
engagement,«which  awaited  their  sanction  before 
being  announced.  Everything  was  beautifully 
smooth  at  last.  Edith  and  Albert  left  the  day 
of  their  marriage  for  Munich,  and  later,  Mrs. 
Jerrold  was  to  settle  down  with  them  at  Tue- 
bingen.  The  rest  of  the  party  were  to  sum- 
mer in  Switzerland;  then  came  fall,  and  then 
-what? 

Norman  thought  he  knew,  and  Mae  said  she 
thought  he  didn't,  but  this  young  woman  was 
losing  half  her  character  for  willfulness,  and 
Norman  was  growing  into  a  perfect  tyrant,  so 
far  as  his  rights  were  concerned.  Easter  is  a 
season  of  marriages.  Mae  read  in  a  Roman 
paper  the  betrothal  announcement  of  the  Sig- 
nor  Bero  and  Signorina  Lillia  Taria.  "  I  would 
like  to  send  them  a  real  beautiful  present,1'  said 


MAM  MADDEN.  187 

she,  and  Norman  did  not  say  no.  So  these  two 
hunted  all  over  Florence,  and  at  length,  in  the 
studio  of  a  certain  not  unknown  Florentine, 
they  discovered  the  very  gift  Mae  desired — a 
picture  of  a  young  Italian  soldier,  bringing 
home  his  bride  to  his  own  people.  There  was 
the  aged  mother,  proud  and  happy,  waiting  to 
bid  the  dark-eyed  girl  welcome.  "  She  has  a 
real  'old  Nokomis '  air,1'  laughed  Mae.  u  I 
know  she  would  have  told  her  son  not  to  seek 
la  stranger  whom  he  knew  not.' "  The  dis- 
tant olive-colored  hillsides,  the  splashing  foun- 
tain near  at  hand,  each  face,  and  even  the  thick 
strong  sunshine  seemed  to  bear  a  tiny  stamp 
with  Italy  graven  on  it.  "  The  name  of  the 
picture  is  exactly  right,"  said  Mae.  Under  the 
painting  were  these  words:  "  Italia  Our  Home." 
Norman  would  hardly  have  been  human  if  he 
had  not  cast  a  quick  glance  at  her  as  she  stood 
thoughtfully  before  the  picture.  Mae  was 
almost  as  good  as  an  Italian  for  involuntary 
posing.  She  had  made  a  tableau  of  herself 
now,  with  one  hand  at  her  eyes  to  shade  them 
from  the  glare  of  the  sun  that  fell  fiercely 
through  the  window,  her  head  half  on  one  side, 
and  a  bit  of  drapery,  of  lace  or  soft  silk,  tight 
around  her  white  throat.  She  felt  Nor- 


188  MAE  MADDEN. 

man's  glance,  and  looked  up  quickly,  and 
smiled  and  shook  her  head:  "No,  Italy  is  not 
my  home,  although  I  love  it  so  well.  There  is 
a  certain  wide  old  doorway  not  many  miles 
from  New  York,  and  the  hills  around  it,  and 
the  great  river  before  it,  and  the  people  in  it, 
all  belong  together,  too.  That's  where  we  be- 
long, Norman,  in  America,  our  home,"  and 
Mae  struck  a  grand  final  pose  with  her  hands 
clasped  ecstatically,  and  her  eyes  flashing  in 
the  true  Goddess  of  Liberty  style. 

uYes,  I  believe  we  do,  Mae;  I  am  almost 
anxious  to  get  back  and  begin  work  in  that 
young,  eager  country." 

"  And  so  am  I,"  said  Mae. 

Norman  laughed.  "  To  think  of  your  coming 
down  to  workv  you  yoi5ng  butterfly." 

"It  is  what  we  all  have  to  come  to,  isn't  it? 
— unless  we  go  to  that  creature  that  finds  some 
mischief  still  for  idle  hands  to  do.  I  don't  ex- 
pect to  come  to  stone-cutting  or  cattle-driving, 
but  I  do  expect  to  settle  down  into  a  tolerable 
-housewifely  little  woman,  and — " 

"  And  look  after  me." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so  —  and  myself,  and  prob- 
ably a  sewing-class  and  the  cook's  lame  son. 


MAE  MADDEN.  189 

Heigh-ho-hum !  What  a  pity  it  is,  that  it  is 
so  uninteresting  to  be  good."1' 

uHow  do  you  know?" 

"  Don't  be  saucy.  I  do  know,  perfectly  well, 
that  Mae  Madden,  naughty,  idle,  and  silly,  may 
be,  after  all,  not  so  stupid;  but  get  me  good, 
industrious  and  wise,  and  it  will  take  all  of  my 
time  when  I'm  not  asleep  to  keep  so.  No, 
there'll  be  nothing  to  say  about  me  any  more. 
I'll  be  as  humdrum  as — " 

u  As  I  am." 

u  You  —  why  Norman,  are  you  humdrum?" 

u  Of  course  I  am,  dreadfully  humdrum.  If 
you  and  I  were  in  a  story-book,  you  would  have 
ten  pages  to  my  one,  to  keep  the  reader  awake. 
But  then,  story-books  aren't  the  end  of  life. 
Suppose  you,  Mae  Madden,  have  been  odd,  full 
of  variety,  ready  to  twist  common  occurrences 
into  something  startling  and  romantic,  have 
you  been  happy?  Haven't  you  been  restless 
and  discontented?  Now,  can't  you,  grown 
humdrum  and  good,  be  very  happy  and 
contented  and  joyful,  even  if  the  sun  rises 
on  just  about  the  same  Mondays  and  Tuesdays 
and  Wednesdays,  the  year  round?  You  will 
not  do  for  a  story-book  then,  but  won't  you  do 
better  for  life?  And,  after  all,  a  lively  mur- 


190  MAE  MADDEN. 

derer  is  a  great  deal  more  sensational  than  you 
could  ever  be." 

"Even  when  I  ran  away?" 

u  Yes.  Now,  you  see,  I  have  been  humdrum 
again,  and  half  preached  a  sermon." 

"  All  right,  sir;  so  long  as  you  take  me  for  a 
text,  you  may  preach  as  you  want  to,  and  by 
and  by,  I  dare  say,  I  shall  agree  with  you." 

"  It  would  have  been  a  great  deal  more  inter- 
esting if  you  had  married  that  Italian." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  could  have  married  that 
Italian,  my  lord?  He  is  going  to  marry  a  girl 
as  much  more  beautiful  than  I  am  as — as  Bero 
himself  is  than  you — and  yet  I  would  rather 
have  you.  And  now,  don't  you  dare  look  at  me 
in  that  way.  I'll  never  say  another  nice  thing 
to  you  if  you  do.  This  artist  will  think  we 
are—" 

"Lovers,  my  dear.     And  aren't  we?" 
*  *  *  *  *  * 

Ten  days  later  Norman  entered  with  a  letter 
for  Mae.  u  Read  it  to  me,"  she  said,  throwing 
back  the  blinds  and  leaning  her  elbows  on  the 
window-cushion. 

u  It  is  from  Lillia.  Would  you  rather  read  it 
yourself?"  "  0,  no."  So  Norman  read  what 
Lillia  had  written  in  her  pretty  broken  English: 


MAE  MADDEN.  191 

"  MY  DEAR  Miss  MAE  :— Thank  you  of  all  my 
heart  for  your  so  lovely  gift.  I  have  had  so  little  home 
since  long,  long  ago  my  mother  died,  and  now  I  am  to 
have  one  as  the  maid  in  the  picture  has.  We  will 
marry  the  fifth  day  of  May  at  five  o'clock,  and  will 
wish  you  to  be  there.  Don't  forget  me. 

LILLIA." 

"  Signer  Bero  has  added  a  postscript,  Mae, 
which  you  can  translate  better  than  I."  And 
Norman  handed  her  the  letter.  Mae  translated 
it  thus : 

"Did  you  know  all  that  the  picture  would  say  to  me, 
Siguorina?  Receive  my  thanks  for  it,  too,  and  believe 
I  shall  always  live  worthy  of  my  Italy,  my  wife  and 
friends  that  I  see  in  the  picture,  and  of  another  friend 
who  lives' so  far  away,  whom  I  shall  never  see  again,  if 
I  have  such  a  friend.  Think  of  my  beautiful  Lillia  on 
our  wedding  day.  We  shall  be  married  at  St.  Andrea's, 
at  vesper  time. 

BERO." 

u  And  this  is  the  day,"  said  Mae,  dropping  the 
note. 

"  And  the  very  hour,  allowing  the  bride  and 
the  sun  a  few  minutes  each,"  added  Norman, 
glancing  at  the  clock. 

They  gaze  quietly  out  of  the  window  of  their 
lodgings  on  the  Borgo  Ognissante,  but  Mae  sees 
far  away  beyond  the  Arno,  into  the  church  of 
St.  Andrea, — music,  and  pomp,  and  beautiful 


192  -MAE  MADDEN. 

ceremony,  and  before  the  altar,  a  woman  in  her 
bridal  robes,  with  heavily  figured  lace  falling 
over  her  black  hair  and  white  forehead,  and 
against  her  soft  cheeks  and  shoulders.  Her 
great  brown  eyes  have  thrown  away  the  mist  of 
sadness  for  a  luminous  wedding  veil  of  joy,  and 
she  is  Lillia,  and  by  her  side,  erect,  proud,  glori- 
ous, with  a  lingering  ray  of  light  falling  on  his 
golden  head,  is  her  happy  husband,  Bero.  They 
stand  before  the  altar  of  St.  Andrea's.  uGod 
bless  you,"  says  Mae  aloud.  Then  her  gaze 
wanders  back  to  the  coral  and  mosaic  shops  be- 
low in  the  street,  and  up  across  to  the  opposite 
window,  where  along-haired,  brown-moust ached, 
brown-eyed  man  leans,  puffing  smoke  from  his 
curved  lips,  and  holding  his  cigarette  in  his  slen- 
der fingers.  She  meets  his  gaze  now,  as  she  has 
met  it  before.  "  He  is  wondering  what  life  will 
bring  to  these  two  young  people,  I  fancy,"  says ' 
Mae. 

U0ur  own  wedding-day,  Mae,"  Norman  replies; 
and  they  both  forget  all  about  Lillia,  and  Bero, 
and  the  stranger,  and  suddenly  leave  the  win- 
dow. The  long-haired  man  puffs  his  cigar  in  a 
little  loneliness,  and  wishes  that  wedding  bells 
might  ring  for  his  empty  heart  too. 

THE  END. 


CTTJST  ZPTJIBILjISHCIEID- 

GRAZIELLA: 

A.  Story  of  Italian, 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF  LAMARTINE. 


B3T  Ta-2ao.es  IB.  Z2.-u.oa.3a.iozx. 

Small  quarto,  232  pages,  red-line,  tinted  paper, 
full-gilt,  uniform  with  holiday  edition  of 
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TESTIMONIALS. 

"  It  is  a  pure,  sweet  story,  with  the  added  charm  of  being  an 
honest  and  truthful  confession.1"— Interior. 

"  It  has  delighted  tens  of  thousands  and  it  will  never  die.  It 
is  one  ot  the  best  things  ever  written  by  the  delightful  French- 
ma  n.11— A  dvocate. 

11  The  story  is  beautifully  told,  with  the  grace  and  fascination 
which  were  so  characteristic  of  Lamartine's  genius,  and  with 
that  purity  in  thought  and  expression  which  all  his  writings 
show.11 — Standard. 

"No  words  can  do  full  justice  to  the  tender  beauty  and  exquisite 
simplicity  of  the  author's  style.  It  is  a  prose  poem,  blending 
the  picturesque  grace  of  Italian  coast  scenery  and  fishing  customs 
with  the  purest  image  of  undying  love."— Inter -Ocean.' 

"  '  Graziella  1  is  full  of  the  simple  power  that  has  made  Hans 
Christian  Andersen's  'Improvisatore1  famous  forever.  It  sparkles 
with  gems  of  fancy,  but  the  setting  vies  in  brilliancy  with  the 
jewels,  aud  the  latter  lose  by  being  torn  from  it.  *  *  * 

It  is  pure  literature,  a  perfect  story  couched  in  perfect  words. 
The  sentences  have  the  rhythm  and  flow,  the  sweetness  and 
tender  fancy  of  the  original.  ****** 

•k  The  publishers  have  not  been  behindhand  in  their  part  of  the 
task.  They  have  given 'Graziella1  a  fitting  dress.  Itisuniform 
with  'Memories,1  the  fifth  edition  of  which  has  just  been  pub- 
lished, and  it  should  stand  side  by  side  with  that  on  the  shelves 
of  every  lover  of  pure,  strong  thoughts  put  in  pure,  strong  words. 
k  (jraziella 1  is  a  book  to  be  loved.1' — Tribune. 

Sent  by  mail,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by 
the  publishers, 

JANSEN,  McCLURG-  &  CO., 

Chicago. 


Edition 


MEMORIES  : 

Ji    StOT>y   Of   GreTTTLCLTL 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  MAX  MULLER. 


G-eorgre   UP. 

Small  quarto,  173  pages,  red  line,  tinted  paper, 

full  gilt;  uniform  with  "  Graziella."  Price  $2.00 
The  Same,  16mo.,  red  edge.  Price  -  -  -  $1.00 

TESTIMONIALS. 

"The  touching  story  of  '  German  Love,1  whose  tender  pathos 
lacks  only  the  harmonies  of  verse  to  make  it  one  of  the  most 
exquisite  poems  in  the  German  language,  is  here  reproduced  in 
an  English  costume  of  chaste  and  delicate  beauty.1'— New  York 
Tribune. 

"This  is,  in  every  respect,  an  exquisitely  beautiful  and 
charming  book.  *  *  The  perfection  of  elegance  and  sim- 
plicity. The  story  itself,  is  one  of  the  purest,  sweetest  and 
most  fascinating  that  we  have  read  for  months.  *  *  A  prose 
poem  rather  than  a  novel.1*— Advance. 

"The  work  is  an  admirable  illustration  of  the  richness,  ten- 
derness and  depth  of  German  sentiment,  an  endowment  in 
which  that  people  is  distinguished  from  all  others.  Seldom  has 
the  dawn,  the  rise  and  the  setting  of  the  sun  of  passion  been 
depicted  with  such  sympathetic  insight  and  such  sweetness  and 
refinement  of  color.11"—  Home  Journal. 

"This  is  one  of  the  most  charming  little  books  we  have  ever 
read.  We  know  of  only  one  other  story  to  which  we  can  compare 
it  — the  exquisite  tale  of  Paul  and  Virginia,  by  Bernardin  de 
Saint  Pierre.  It  were  difficult  indeed  to  say  which  of  these  two 
little  books  is  the  more  admirable.  They  are  both  gems  of  love- 
stories,  and  those  who  are  acquainted  with  the  French  one  can 
have  no  higher  assurance  of  the  excellence  of  the  German  than 
that  it  is  not  its  inferior  in  interest  or  poetic  elevation.1'— 
Chicago  Tribune. 

Sent  by  mail,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price, 
by  the  publishers, 

JANSEN,  McCLURG  &  CO., 

Chicago. 


